Ianto Jones' Diary
by torchwoodfour
Summary: Ch 50. This is Torchwood, Jack & life through Ianto's eyes, from the beginning, the Battle of Canary Wharf. After life, after death, there is time to just be and remember to: Breathe While You’re Able.
1. Torchwood 1

Ohh-kay. I don't know quite what to write here. What does one write in one's diary in the 21st century? What did one write in one's diary in the 19th century? What does one write in one's diary when one is NOT A TEN YEAR-OLD GIRL?! Why on earth would you give a man a diary for a gift? I do know that if I don't look like I'm writing, and really having a good time; Lisa is going to get upset. Maybe she'll forget about it in a day or so. We're going camping next week. Maybe it'll get lost in all the packing-up. Is that enough writing? Maybe I can distract her with a cup of tea. I really hope she's de-scaled that kettle by now.

* * *

Well, it's only been a few days and Lise has asked me about the diary on every break we've had. As she is in the lunch line I had better at least appear to like writing in this thing. What to write… What to write? The research department is supposed to be getting a new supervisor next week. I hope he/she/it is better than Alonso (couldn't be much worse.) His organizational skills are enough to make me scream. If he looses any more of my reports I'll NEVER make senior research associate. I'm sure it can't look good to the 46th floor. That, of course, assumes that anyone ever reads my reports. I can imagine two years of my reports stacked in a crate in some huge storage warehouse (probably right next to the Ark of the Covenant.) Maybe if I were to stay late I could make my reports more complete, or helpful. Ahh… Lisa is at the check-out, so I can stop writing in this thing. I still don't know what I'm expected to do with this diary. I'm Ianto Jones, not Bridget Jones.

* * *

Alonso lost ANOTHER report. What a surprise. Matt in special projects said he heard that Alonso was being transferred to "Department 99." He said it was all rather top-secret. It's one of those places where once you get there; you never want to bother stopping back by to visit. He said something odd about the walls being lined with gold. I'm quite certain Torchwood wouldn't line anything with gold, especially when one looks at my paycheck. Still, how can anyone that disorganized get promoted? Maybe I should start making errors on my reports and see if I can get into R&D or field work. (As if I would ever want that. There is no way on this earth that anyone could convince me that I would ever want to be a field agent.) I'm still not so sure about this whole camping idea. Lisa says it will be good for me. I would like to know how sleeping bags and a tent can be good for anyone. She did buy me a kettle at a camp supply store. It's supposed to withstand the heat of a campfire better. Am I supposed to build a campfire?

* * *

Camping is evil. There are no redeeming graces whatsoever. I am cold. Lisa is looking for more firewood. There is none. I looked. I looked for three hours. Why don't we just burn this diary? I'm cold and quite sure it would make quite a cheery little blaze. Better still, why not just get in the car and head for the nearest hotel? Why not go where there are clean sheets? Why not go where there is room service? Why not go where there is heat? And a roof? Because this, my dear girl informs me, is an adventure! Well this is just a little more adventure than I was ever looking to find.

As an added bonus, it's started to rain. Did I mention I am cold?

* * *

Well last night was just brilliant. It got so cold, I was sure something would freeze and drop off. Like my head. On the brighter side, we woke up to the lovely sounds of nature. No wait, that was just the sound of a dog pissing on our tent. I hate tents, I hate that dog, I hate camping, I hate being cold. I hate this whole damn weekend. Things couldn't be worse.

I don't hate the dog. Truth be told, the weekend wasn't really all that bad. It was cold, but at about 1 a.m. Lise and I found that the two of us in one sleeping bag was not at all unpleasant and considerably warmer. There is something to be said for getting cuddly in a tent. She still claims she doesn't snore. I recorded proof on my mp3 player. Hah! But she gets so upset when I tease her about it. I told her that I didn't love her for her looks… it was always her resonance. I'll have to erase it before she hears it.

* * *

Monday? It can't be. Wasn't it just Friday fifteen minutes ago? I can't be expected to get any work done with a hang-over and all that construction noise going on upstairs. I don't know how Lisa deals with it in her section; she's right down the hall from it all. At least Alonso is gone. Everyone thought he was with us through the end of the week, but he wasn't at his desk at his usual 20 past this morning. Late and disorganized, a sure route to better things at Torchwood One. I should hope the other Torchwood bases are run better or the whole Torchwood web seems rather doomed to fall one by one.

There seems to be a lot of commotion today. I was in the hall just outside Matt's department and nearly got knocked down by Matt's boss, Yvonne. She was with some guy in a rather rumpled brown single-breasted pin-stripe and a really blonde rather rumpled woman, along with about 20 of the field troops. Just now, the building alarms have started going off. It must be another fire drill. If I can find Lise before she heads down, we can wait in the parking garage together.

I can't find Lise. Her department has all emptied, but there is no sign of her. I wonder if she went to the cafeteria. I had better go find her or she'll say I didn't look hard enough for her. She can really get pouty if she doesn't feel loved enough.

I still can't find Lise. I've tried her mobile a hundred times.

There was this thing. It was in one of the hallways near the top floor. It was like a traffic pylon on wheels. I thought it must have gotten loose from R&D. I was just about to push it back there when this man dressed in a suit of silver armour came out of the lift. The traffic pylon shot a beam of light or laser from this armature that looked like an egg-beater. I think it killed the man. Right there, not 5 meters from me. He fell. I don't know who to call. No one is answering. Not even Matt. He always answers. He has two of those obnoxious Bluetooth earphones. They can't both be out of order. I don't know what to do. Maybe I should go back and wait at my desk. Where is Lisa?!

There are more of those men in armour. They are killing people too. I don't understand what is going on. I thought they were Torchwood. I thought they were fighting the machines but then they were fighting our field troops too. They were killing everyone who got in their way. I have to warn Lisa!

My phone rang. It only rang once, but it was from Lise. I rang her back, but she still doesn't pick-up. Maybe I could go to communications and they could put a trace on the GPS chip in her phone. She must have gotten out of the building. She's probably worried about me. I don't want Lisa to worry.

* * *

I found her. I found her on level 42 of Torchwood Tower. I found her screaming. That is how they left her, half alive and screaming. She was wired into some monstrous machine. They were making her into one of them. I promised her that I would fix her. That I would take care of her and she would be healed. She said she couldn't remember all that happened. She said she was working at her desk when four of those silver things came into the room. She said they killed Trevor right away, just for standing-up. They told everyone that they would be 'upgraded.' The next thing she remembered was being strapped into the machine. Then all she remembers after that is pain. That was three days ago.

* * *

I don't know what to do now. She says she can't remember things. She asked me to remember things for her by writing it all down. She wants me to write what I feel as well as what happens to us. I promised I would keep writing.

* * *

I was able to collect enough of the pieces of the conversion unit before the other Torchwood teams showed-up and cleared everything away. She has shown me how to keep her alive by piecing those bits together. The electric bill is draining away all of our savings. I don't know what we can do, who can help, where we can go. We have to stay hidden. We have to find help.

* * *

She had an idea and won't let it go. She wants me to go to Torchwood 3. She said that they would have the power systems she needed and that there must be places to hide. I don't like the idea at all. Torchwood thinks if it's alien it's theirs. I don't want them to get hold of her. I don't know what they'd do to her. I've also heard some odd things about the guy who runs that base. I don't want him to get hold of her.

* * *

She won't stop. She says if I can't get her into Torchwood 3, she will die and leave me all alone. She doesn't want me to be alone. I didn't want to, but I promised her I would talk to them and see if I could get a new position.


	2. Interview

Get the job:

I found him tonight. I found Captain Jack Harkness, head of Torchwood 3. He was by himself in a park in downtown Cardiff wrestling with a weevil. I'd done a summary of the weevil threat in metropolitan populations a few months ago. It was one Alonso actually had not lost. I wonder what happened to Alonso. So many people went missing that day… I'd never actually seen a weevil before last night, let alone anyone fighting one unarmed. He was not attractive; the weevil, not Captain Harkness. I hope I managed to make some kind of an impression.

* * *

There is a pterodactyl nesting in an empty parking lot on the bay. I found him when I was looking for an alternate location if we can't get into Torchwood 3. He seems a little undernourished. I tried him with a chicken from the market, but he seems to want his food to move. I then tried him with a chocolate I had in my pocket, that, he liked. It took a while, but he lets me get closer to him each time I try. Maybe he's had some bad experiences with people. Caution seems to be the key.

I found Captain Harkness again at the Millennium Center. I brought him coffee. He seemed to like it, but I'm concerned that he doesn't like me. He listed my life history like a grocery list. It sounded fairly pathetic, even to me, and I was the one who had lived it. That he had researched me, I hoped that it meant that he was interested, but all it meant was that I wasn't considered a threat. He told me that he essentially wouldn't hire me if I were the last person on Earth. He says I'm not worth a chance because I used to work at Torchwood 1. I sat a computer all day. What does he think we did there? What did we do there? Not the best start. I'm going to have to try harder to be impressive.

The pterodactyl still won't eat anything besides chocolate. I tried putting the chicken on a string and pulling it around the parking lot. He followed me, but still wouldn't eat it. I'm pretty sure he was laughing at me. Maybe he wants something other than poultry. He is an avian creature after all. I'll go see what else is on special at the market.

I came back to find a group of kids throwing rocks at the pterodactyl this afternoon. I gave them 5 quid each to leave. Then I managed to lure him into an abandoned warehouse with the pork chops I had bought. This time the string worked much more satisfactorily. This dinosaur can eat. Our money is now almost all gone. If I can't find an answer soon, I'm going to loose Lisa. Now I've adopted a stray pterodactyl, finding a permanent place is going to be even harder.

* * *

I couldn't stand the feeling of a suit after that last day at Torchwood Tower. Every time I looked at my work clothes I could see the fighting, the dying, the blood and the death. Torchwood requires proper attire. I learned that the first day of orientation. Professional people dress professionally, and Torchwood only hires professionals. I was an idiot, showing-up and stalking Captain Harkness in casual clothes. Every day at the Tower, I wore a proper suit, why would I ever think that Torchwood Cardiff would be any different? Maybe I'm going about this the wrong way. Maybe I need to treat this like a proper job interview, a CV and an appointment.

Reading what I've written above, I realize I'm just making excuses. Captain Harkness just doesn't like me and he never will. Why should he? I've destroyed everything because I wasn't good enough, I wasn't helpful enough, I wasn't clever enough. I've betrayed Lisa. I'll never be able to help her and she is going to die.

I couldn't face Lisa. I had gone to interview for a job that was listed in the paper. It wasn't a very impressive place, but we're out of money and if I can't get something going, we'll be out of a place to stay. I don't think the interview went well anyway. I really wasn't prepared when they asked me why I had left my former employer. I should have been ready. I wasn't. I couldn't bear to tell Lise that I'd failed her. I went to check on the pterodactyl. He isn't looking well at all. I don't have any more money for chops. Now he won't let me get as close. He seems reluctant to fly and he holds his head at a strange angle. If I don't find someone to help, he isn't going to make it. His feelings against me or not, I think Captain Harkness is the only hope.

When I saw the black SUV heading straight for me tonight, I was certain Captain Harkness was going to run me down. He stopped, though. He told me to get out of town. I've never had anyone hate me so much. He wouldn't let me get a word in, but I knew that if I couldn't get his attention, the pterodactyl would surely die tonight. He finally heard me. I think that perhaps all he heard was 'pterodactyl' but it was enough. I took him to the warehouse. The only kit he had was a rather impressive hypodermic needle with a neuro- sedative. The man who would go up against a weevil unarmed was now going up against a dinosaur with only a sedative. The pterodactyl was rather upset that I brought someone new. After a quick aborted attempt we tried again. I have to say he smelt incredible; Captain Harkness, not the pterodactyl. He said it was 51st century pheromones. Where did Torchwood get 51st century pheromones? He smelt like spice and the sea and… and we went in with the pterodactyl again. The Captain wanted to act as a decoy and have me inject the sedative, but I knew he would never let a stranger get that close. It had to be me. I showed him my secret weapon… the chocolate bar. It worked, at first. The pterodactyl was only distracted briefly. The Captain lunged at him and grabbed him by the leg as he took off. It was amazing! The pterodactyl flew all around the warehouse, but the Captain held on and managed to inject the sedative. In just a few seconds, the pterodactyl started to slip into sleep. As I saw the Captain let go and start to fall to the floor I thought he would certainly break something important, so I maneuvered under him to break his fall. Then I could see that the pterodactyl was falling from the air, right where we were lying on the ground. I rolled over out of the way, taking the Captain with me. We must have looked ridiculous lying there. We laughed like we were friends for a moment before I realized…Before… When... I knew I had to leave before I ruined the moment, or he reminded me I was to leave town, or one of a million other horrible things that always happen. I had helped save the pterodactyl, but I had failed Lisa. I got up to leave when Captain Harkness told me "I'll see you in the morning." He also said that he liked my suit I couldn't look at him. I knew if I did I would probably cry.


	3. It begins

Day 1: Well, my first day at Torchwood 3 has not gone quite as I had expected. When I got hired on at London there was orientation, two full months of training, a mentor. Today I show-up at ten 'til nine, right on time, I thought. As I entered the front office, Captain Harkness rushed out with his team, "This could take a while. Have a look around, make yourself at home. Make yourself useful." Well, Torchwood 3 is certainly smaller than Torchwood Tower. Why is it decorated like a Tourist Information office?

Things are not quite as they seemed at first, I'm happy to say. After sitting in that office for 45 minutes (I did help a couple of Canadian visitors who were lost and I sorted out all of the brochures,) I discovered this rather large button behind the desk. I then discovered Torchwood 3. It was amazing. It isn't at all like the Tower, all shiny and new. This Torchwood has history. It looks like it's been here a hundred years (areas look like they haven't been properly cleaned in two hundred.) It looks like a tube station. Who built this? I can't even imagine.

After a little time looking around, I found the lower vaults. It doesn't appear that they are in use. I was able to route extra power down from the grid. I think it will be perfect, except its a little damp. We'll have to watch the puddles when we move in all the equipment.

The coffee machine needed fixing, and cleaning. That done, I moved onto the rest. One of the desks had a coffee mug with some sort of biological experiment growing in it. I think this may be the doctor's desk, so I left it alone. I get the idea that this is a loosing battle. There is only so much clean this place will allow. The rest will have to do as it is. It's now 4 o'clock and all's well. I guess all's well. It's just me here and nothing to do. I think those cleaning products are starting to get to me. Maybe a pizza would be helpful.

I had a pizza delivered to the Tourist Information office upstairs. Nice long chat with the delivery girl. She asked me out. I didn't know what to say. I think after I stuttered a bit, she thought I was gay. She was definitely cute, but she could never replace Lisa. I should go back down and see what else I can do.

Pterodactyls can make quite a mess.

Last night after the pizza I went to the file archive and got them sorted, at least back to 2002. I must have fallen asleep at the desk, because the next thing I remember was Captain Harkness whispering in my ear to go home. For a moment I thought I was being let go. I tried desperately to explain what happened, but the Captain just kept smiling at me. Once I realized that I should just stop talking, he said, "Its 2am, that's enough of a first day for anyone. Go home, and I'll see you in a couple of hours." I'm heading back in now and should be there by quarter to eight at the latest.

* * *

I'm back in the records archive this morning. I want to get things in order back to at least 2000 before I take a break. I brought in some new coffee. The grit they had up there before looked like dirt. I hope the team likes coffee.

The coffee went over quite well. The Captain said I shouldn't spend all my time hidden away in the records vault, and that the records were fine left to themselves.

* * *

If I'm in by half past 7, I can have coffee ready and beat just about everyone in except the Captain. I'm beginning to think he lives in "the hub." I've been at Torchwood 3 for over a week now. I'm still not exactly sure what my duties are. When we were capturing the pterodactyl I offered to work in a long list of capacities. It seems the Captain has taken me up on all of them. I figure when I can't find something to help with, I can watch the Tourist office. It's also a good place to avoid Owen. He can be a little mean. Still, I'm here. Given enough time, I hope I can feel like I fit in. They left the hub again chasing some light in the sky heading north towards Abergavenney and didn't think they'd be back tonight. I think this might be my chance to get her moved.

* * *

Everything is in place and for the first time, I think this all might work just fine. The computers were down. Not Torchwood's but all the rest of Cardiff and even as far as Newport. Lisa is resting.

* * *

I got a message on the answer phone last night. They offered me the job, the one I interviewed for before the Captain finally said yes. I'll have to give them a call and thank them. They must be pretty desperate if they wanted me after that mess of an interview, but I really couldn't have worked for a truck haulage company anyway. Tosh stopped by on her way in this morning while I was in the Tourist office. I like her. She's quiet, but seems quite nice. A lot of our conversations have a lot of polite smiling at each other. Later I went down into the hub and they were playing basketball again. The Captain had asked me once if I wanted to play. Owen jumped-in with some crack about people wearing suits not being able to shoot. They've never asked again.

The TW team has left for the pub. They left quite a mess here. I've got to get it all sorted before I can head downstairs tonight. Things are starting to settle down into a kind of routine. The Captain has started to give me some assignments around the hub. It's all administrative, but at least it's something. Why does the Captain call all of the weevils by female names? Are they all female? How does he know that?

* * *

The Captain, Tosh and Susie were at the Cardiff Central Server building all today, trying to determine if that new virus was alien in origin. Owen was the only one here, so I tried to get him to look at what I had found hidden as Easter egg on a DVD I had. It had this really strange message from a man claiming to be a time traveler in 1969. The film had nothing to do with time travel, so the clip just didn't make sense. Owen said he'd take a look at it, so I gave him the disc. He looked at the case, said "You actually watch his rubbish? This is what I think of Mr. Darcy," and tossed it into the water at the base of the tower. That was Lisa's DVD.

* * *

The Captain has asked me to start monitoring police and military frequencies, as well as 999 calls. I'm to look for unusual and possibly alien activity. A lot of what I heard today was unusual, but nothing alien.

Owen is really starting to irritate me. He asked how I could get a job as a tea-boy if I couldn't even clean-up properly. I think the surest way to bother him is not to ask what he meant.

Susie didn't want to play basketball tonight. Owen said he really felt like playing and that since the Captain was so tall, it would still be even teams if Owen took Tosh and they went two-on-one. Tosh looked confused about all that but really didn't want to play uneven teams. They all went off to the pub instead.

I'm not sure I can get all this done in one night. The Captain has left me three police reports to alter, an RAF memo to delete, and a weevil victim to take care of, and it's already midnight. I don't know if I can get downstairs at all tonight.

I did make it downstairs at about 2am. She had an idea. If I were to route a networked terminal downstairs I could do my work by her side after everyone leaves for the night. I'm not sure if that is such a good idea, but I don't know if I could refuse. She does pout so when she doesn't feel loved enough.

* * *

I had an idea this morning. I'm thinking that if I create a program to filter the police, military, 999 calls to find clues, info, etc. I wouldn't have to spend all that time monitoring the individual frequencies. I could spend more time on other things.

* * *

I started working on the program. There was something odd in the protocols that was keeping it from running quite how I wanted. For some reason it just kept coming-up with calls containing the word "doctor." It really wasn't helpful when one considers the number of times that word is used in 999 calls. If I can have Tosh take a look at it, I'm sure she can get it sorted. I'd ask Susie, but she always looks at me strangely.

* * *

Tosh fixed my program and it runs just fine now. She then went and told the Captain about it. When he said it was a good idea and that's why he hired her, Tosh told him it was my program. I wanted to fall through the floor. The Captain turned and looked at me and I swear I felt like I'd burst into flames. He looked at me for what felt like an hour before cocking his head a little to the side. "Really?" was all he said before turning and walking back to his office. I could see Tosh cover her mouth like she does when she laughs at inappropriate moments. All I could do was glare at her and head up to the Tourist Office. It's been a few days since I could make it downstairs. I am sure the Captain lives here.

* * *

Why do I worry so much about what the Captain thinks about me? I've always received good reviews and gotten along with my supervisors. Why does it matter so much more now? He told me today that it was the first time in a long time that he was able to find the file he was looking for right away. He told me I was doing a good job. I felt sick.

I changed the coffee blend to see if anyone would like it better. The Captain told me that it was "orgasmic." I told him that might be considered harassment. Afterwards I realized he might have actually said 'organic.' I spent the rest of the day hiding in the Tourist Office. On her way home for the night, Tosh said that knowing the Captain as long as she had, she was pretty sure I was right the first time.

* * *

Today when I handed Owen his coffee, he took a sip and re-created that scene with Meg Ryan in 'When Harry Met Sally." The Captain told him to go down and clean out the weevil vaults. When he complained that he was a Doctor and said that the tea-boy should do it, the Captain just folded his arms and glared at him until he went. I told the Captain that if he couldn't handle the coffee, I was just planning on switching Owen's back to the potting soil that used to be used. The Captain just turned back to his office and as he walked away he said, "Now you're learning."

* * *

I thought it might be a good idea to get some of the older files into the computer so access might be a little easier/quicker. I've started on some of the oldest cold case files.

Jack the Ripper was an alien.

So were a dozen or so members of Parliament quite recently.

Was anyone in British history human?

* * *

I told Owen that I saw that hand move again. He keeps saying that it's just the oxygenating bubbles. I told him that if you watch it late at night it moves its fingers. He said that if I'm spending my nights watching a hand in a jar for movement, I have less of a life than he thought. For once in his life, Owen might be right. I can't believe I wrote that in ink. I think there is some white-out in the supply room.

* * *

Susie seems really quite upset with Owen. She stomps around the hub and I am sure I could hear her all the way up in the Tourist Office. Whenever he speaks to her she just stares at him until he goes away. Tosh looks afraid to go anywhere near them. I'm thinking that maybe if I ordered some Chinese take-away it might lower the stress level a bit.

The Chinese really seemed to help. Maybe it was a blood-sugar issue, but once everyone sat down to eat, it felt almost like a family diner. People still teased, but no one was nasty. Even Owen was relatively civil. The hard thing was guessing what everyone would want. No one complained, so I guess I got it close enough to right. I'll have to remember this when the team starts getting snippy.

* * *

Lisa spent all of last night resting. She seems to be doing that more lately. I've managed to get a hold of an e-mail address for a leading expert in cybernetics. I'm not sure what to write. It will have to be amazing to interest him, but I can't say too much to start with. How much can I say?

* * *

The Captain told me next time to take the money for the Chinese out of the petty cash, and not to pay for it myself. I told him it was worth it just to stop the bickering and drawer-slamming. He agreed but said that I wasn't paid enough to go spending on everyone else. He then smiled at me and said that I probably deserved a raise!

* * *

The Captain asked me if I was available tonight. I think I must have stuttered when I tried to answer, because he laughed when he then asked if I was available to provide back-up for Tosh tonight. I felt faint.

What do I do to provide back-up?

* * *

I asked Tosh about back-up last night. She did that thing with her hand again. Does she think I can't see her laughing when she does that? RE: back-up, she just wanted me to literally stand behind her as she intimidated some burly dock-worker into leaving early for the night so we could dispose of a weevil victim without witnesses. How does a 5foot nil woman intimidate a guy that size? I'd really like to know.

* * *

I was making a tea for Susie when Tosh and then Owen arrived for coffee. Before I knew it, we were all standing around the machine talking about the Captain's history. Not one of them knows anything about him! There's quite a number of theories, but no facts. Who is Captain Jack Harkness?

* * *

I found the blueprints for the new UNIT ship Valiant on the internet today. I don't know if it's really our department, but they were really quite interesting, so I filed them for future reference.

Cardiff police have done a search for Captain Jack Harkness but all they found was an American who went missing in 1941. That can't be him, can it? It would explain the clothes. Still, that's cutting edge research for the Cardiff PD: Google.

* * *

The Captain allowed PC Gwen Cooper to "discover" the hub tonight. Why does everyone have such an easy time getting in here when I had to work so hard at it? She actually showed-up with pizzas. I did feel for her, though. She looked rather frightened when I buzzed her in through 'the wall.' The Captain commented again on how I look in a suit. I don't know how I'm supposed to take that. No one else here wears one. Owen keeps on about the suit, but he's a twat (He actually said that himself tonight. I guess that makes the opinion unanimous.) Tosh usually compliments my ties, and she always seems sincere. Susie never usually says two words together to me, so nothing new there… But the Captain, I don't know if he's teasing, or if it's his subtle way of saying 'loose the suit.'

They've all finally left for the night. The Captain took PC Cooper to the pub for a beer and a retcon chaser. Owen left telling Tosh about the 'hot' girls at some new bar he'd found. Either Tosh shouldn't have had the pizza, or it was Owen's boasts, but she surely looked ill when she left. Suzie looked how she always does when she left with that massive bag she carries all the time. She is really going to do her back some damage if she doesn't lighten it up some. All I have left tonight is to watch for any records PC Cooper makes or if she tells anyone before the retcon kicks in. I've suggested that a newer dose be tried sooner rather than later. If retcon worked faster, I could finish-up earlier. I have to get downstairs tonight. I have news for Lisa!

* * *

There were three weevil sightings last night. They were nothing much, no attacks this time. We convinced two of the groups that they were drunk. The other group was a couple of nuns, so it called for a little more finesse. We had to buy them some drinks first. It seems they are getting more active all of a sudden, the weevils, not the nuns.

When the Captain called us back in at midnight and Suzie wasn't here, I knew something must have happened, but I never would have guessed that. That enormous bag of hers, and all the time she spent on that glove. She had never signed-out the knife. I wonder what else she took home with her. The Captain called us together to tell us what happened. I never thought Suzie the type to kill herself. I guess that she felt trapped. She'd dug herself a hole so deep she could no longer see daylight, she could no longer call for help.

I went to copy over the CCTV footage for the file, but most of it had been damaged or erased. The Captain said not to worry about it and just file everything else. He called a second meeting later in the night. I thought it was going to be one of those Torchwood London counseling sessions for when a co-worker has died. It wasn't one of those kinds of meetings. I have never seen The Captain go that shade of fuchsia before. He was none too happy about Suzie's protocol breach. I can't help but think there was something more he wasn't saying. He reiterated the Torchwood 3 rules about removing artifacts without his expressed approval and that he was in charge and would be obeyed. He demanded that everyone follow the rules starting immediately. I was surprised that Tosh had that scanner. But that Owen would abscond with the pheromone cologne, quite a shock. There was a moment when it almost felt like they were all waiting for me to return something as well. I almost put my dad's fountain pen on the table.

The Captain called yet another meeting later this morning. He announced that he had hired PC Cooper. It seems as if the length of the interview process has been slackened slightly since I was hired. Still, she seems nice. We'll have to see.

I got an e-mail from Dr. Tanazaki tonight. He says he'll come! He actually seems truly interested in helping. For the first time since it happened, I feel like there may be hope. It's all down to details now; details and time.

* * *

_**I hope someone is reading this and enjoying it. If so, please let me know so I'll write some more (shameless begging there.)**_


	4. I'm no longer the newbie

After the Captain had me tag the glove and knife as 'Not For Use' and place it in the vault in his office, I couldn't help but think further about Susie and what happened. It's hard to imagine, getting into a situation like that. But I think that using the glove must have made her feel good. It would have to feel good, having the ability to save people, to bring them back from too far gone. It must have been addictive. I would imagine that that feeling masks what it drains from your soul. I hadn't known her long, but looking back, even I could see that it was changing her. Once she started, there was no way to go back. I'm glad the glove didn't work for me.

It's PC Cooper… Gwen's first day tomorrow. Thinking back to my first day, I'm hoping to make things run a little smoother for her. I've cleared a desk for her and set-up her computer. I've also taken care of the paperwork and added her to the employee file. (Seeing as no one had bothered to do mine for me in the first week I was here, I figured Gwen might have some use for a security swipe-card and eventually a paycheck.)

Owen has left the biological experiment mug on what is to be PC…Gwen's desk. I removed it to his autopsy table. I cannot understand why he just won't put it in the sink, or even if he would just ask nicely… Oh. I see the problem now.

My emergency services monitoring program alerted me of a meteorite flying low to the east. The military is already responding, but I've sent a group page and the team is going to investigate. It looks like Gwen is starting work a little early; and I'll be staying a little late. Until the team gets back, I guess I'll wait downstairs.

I spent two hours with her before the team returned. She's been pouting a lot lately. I don't know how to make her happy anymore. I thought she'd be thrilled that Dr. Tanazaki will be coming. Instead she spent most of her awake time tonight asking when I'll route that computer down to her room.

Well, I've been in the hub and without sleep for 22 hours now, and it looks like its going to be yet another long day. Gwen had a hell of a first outing with the team. It's all Owen could talk about when they got back. Apparently Gwen chucked a chisel at the meteor and punctured it, releasing an unknown gas. She's spent the last 2 hours apologizing for it. I've set the program to scan for events or information that might be related.

Owen called me 'old-fashioned.' Old fashioned? I'm not quite sure just how insulted I should feel. All I did was mention that it was an unusual shirt he was wearing today. His reply? "Well, I can understand your confusion. This is what men wear these days. Grown men who aren't old-fashioned tea-boys." On second thought, I know exactly how insulted to feel.

Gwen is still apologizing. If she keeps this up, she is going to get really annoying.

The team has brought in a girl, Carys Fletcher, infected with alien gas (that just made me laugh and everyone jumped like they'd been hit. Sorry.) Anyway…infected with alien gas. She's been placed in level 4 vault C.

I'm beginning to think that Susie's loss is effecting Owen just a little more than he would ever admit. Since she's been gone he's been nastier than usual. He's already launching into Gwen with comments that are not only thoughtless, but really intended to hurt. He usually builds-up to that after he has known someone at least a little while. I can't believe that he actually recorded the CCTV footage of Gwen in the vault. I don't think she'd appreciate that floating around. Knowing Owen, he'll put it on YouTube.

Rather than talk to him again anytime soon, I had left another copy of the Captain's protocol memo on Owen's desk under the mug with the experiment in it (if only the memo were about putting dishes in the sink.) As it was, I'd noticed that Owen had signed-out a few more artifacts that had not been seen in a while. The Captain had asked me for a weekly report on the location of all items in inventory, and I wanted to give Owen a chance to get it all back first. Owen, however, had other ideas. He crumpled the memo into a ball and threw it at me saying, "You're just the tea boy. Don't think you can go telling me what to do." Maybe the tea-boy will turn in his weekly report early.

I brought Chinese food again to break the tension. Owen and Gwen keep fighting. Tosh told Owen to back off Gwen on her first case with the team. He said something back to her and she hadn't spoken again since. They always relax over food. In fact, while the Captain was away from the table, we all got into that same conversation about his past. Gwen didn't have any more information than anyone else. Once again, it was all conjecture and no fact. When the Captain came back Gwen broke the convivial mood with a bit of a rant about eating Chinese while a girl was fighting for her life. She also told the Captain that he'd forgotten what it is to be human. She starts this whole thing with her carelessness and now suddenly the Captain is inhuman?

* * *

Carys has escaped through the tourist office, she had that hand with her. I offered to help, but the Captain declined, letting her go in order to rescue the hand. Since Gwen and Tosh went after Carys, I went to get a jar for the hand, and a mop. When I got back, the Captain was holding the hand in a rather odd fashion. But I was right, it was moving. There in his hands, the hand from the jar was moving. The Captain gave me the hand and told me to "be careful with him." Not it…"him." I fixed the case with new glass and fresh gel. When I placed the hand back in, it waved at me again. I think the hand needs a name.

I erased Owen's recording of the CCTV footage of Gwen and Carys from down in the vaults. I then replaced it with the footage of himself after Carys stole his swipe card and left him all alone and void of clothing. Maybe he could use a photo still for his Christmas cards. Memo: issue new swipe card to Owen, eventually.

The team was able to capture Carys at the Conway Fertility Clinic. Tosh said that The Captain kissed the girl and she glowed. Not a metaphor, she actually, physically glowed. Tosh also said that when it was all over, Gwen kissed the Captain (no glow with her, though.) First mission with the team and Gwen is already kissing the boss? I thought she had a boyfriend.

The Captain has asked that I take care of the remains of the victims at the clinic and provide cover stories and falsified bodies for each of them. And where am I supposed to get 11 dead young men who match the victims? And at this time of night? If there's a warehouse somewhere, I really don't want to know. At least Carys has been cured of her alien gas (that is still funny) and returned home.

* * *

I've just now come across a note from Owen jammed in the experiment mug and left amongst the clean dishes. He wants me to clean up the 'rat jam'? That is just too sick, even for Owen. Well, I told him before, if he can't take care of his pets, I'm not cleaning it up. I think maybe I'll go make a donation to PETA.


	5. Never Push the Button

Well, isn't that just like police training and just like Gwen? The moment the object in her hands is identified as alien, she goes and pushes the big button. They drilled that into us at Torchwood One, right from day one of orientation (even as a junior researcher, where we never even saw artifacts, let alone access to touch any.) Lisa always joked that she was going to embroider that on a cushion: "Never Push The Button." Speaking of buttons, Owen has a new phone, and I've never seen him so exited. (Now that Tosh has shown him how to work it properly.) Normally I really couldn't care less about a new phone, but it seems odd, this new Archangel Network. There is something about that phone that makes my head hurt just a little when I'm anywhere near it (assuming that it's the phone, and not Owen.) I know it's probably just a coincidence, but it's also a little strange that two of Tosh's computer monitors went down while she was showing him how to sync music through that phone. I managed to get one monitor up and going again, but the other is still out of order and might need to be replaced.

The Captain seems a little out of sorts today. He is unusually terse and honestly quite snippy with everyone. (And he tells me that I need more vegetables!) A few days ago I had switched him over to decaf and I see now that it was a mistake. Maybe they could all use a caffeine and sugar boost. I'm getting doughnuts.

Note to self: with this group, never tell a joke that requires audience interaction. That joke fell flat, "Splott" vs. "Splow." Is Gwen even from around here? How could she not know the opening to a Splott joke?

The Captain has named the device a "Quantum Transducer." (Remember to update the file.) Owen has pushed the button as well. I suppose he couldn't let Gwen be the only one. The Captain has taken Gwen down to the firing range. As such, I've called Annie over at Jubilee; the Captain will probably have Gwen shooting for hours and is bound to be hungry by the time they're done. He always forgets to eat. I'm just waiting for the pizzas before I take this chance to head downstairs. I want to try her on a new dose. I think Lisa is suffering more than she says.

I don't know what to do. I thought that if I could just keep her safe and alive, a solution would present itself. Over a year on and nothing has been fixed. If anything, she's worse. I can feel her humanity slipping away. There are times when I can't hear Lisa when she speaks, only a machine. Sometimes she looks at me and it doesn't seem to be Lisa at all, but a stranger. I can't help but wonder if I appear a stranger to her as well… Things have been busy lately. Maybe I'm not spending enough time with her. I thought she needed more rest, but maybe that isn't what she needs at all. Things will get better. Things have to get better. Without her… I don't know what I'd do if anything…How I could…Tonight I told her I wasn't able to route a computer down to her room. I had to lie. I hated it, but I told her that all of the systems were routed in such a way that a new terminal would be obviously visible on the control monitors. I'm not sure if she believed me or not. I couldn't tell her the real reason. I couldn't tell her that I was afraid of what might happen. I couldn't tell her that sometimes, I'm afraid of her.

As I was clearing up before heading out tonight I tried to find the Quantum Transducer to lock it up for the night. I couldn't find it, so I just noted the file. The Captain must have it. I'm sure after all the memos, Gwen wouldn't have been so reckless to have taken it home.

* * *

There is a storage bin on Moira St. that is apparently stacked full and might include some alien bits. The Captain sent me over today to get it all sorted. That's all well and good. Now I've got one box full of assorted unidentified alien rubbish, and 122 boxes of assorted unidentified human rubbish. Maybe Torchwood should hold a car boot sale. While I was out, the team discovered that the two Transducers together show the future. How did they discover this? Gwen hit the big button again. She's really never going to learn, is she?

I noticed that the Captain has been keeping an eye on me again. As I was working on Tosh's workstation, He just stood, leaning in the doorway to his office with a cup of coffee. He has watched my every move since I cracked-open the back of that monitor. Am I doing something wrong? Why does he constantly watch what I'm doing? He doesn't seem to watch the others, the ones on his team. Also, Tosh kept interrupting me while I was working on her station. I finally asked Owen to keep her busy while I finished-up. I think he took her for a drink. Wherever they went, the monitor is now done (and the Captain is back in his office.)

* * *

Its early morning now. Everyone is back in the hub, but no one is speaking. Gwen keeps rubbing at her hands like Lady Macbeth. The Captain just put the Quantum Transducer on the desk next to me. It is such a deceptive looking device, so innocuous. As I'm writing this, it's starting to beep. I think it must be picking up a signal, a ghost. I feel an urge to stop writing and pick it up, but I won't. I can begin to understand why Gwen and Owen had to press the button. There is a feeling, a compulsion. It whispers in my head: Go on, go on, go on press it! I can't help but think of what Owen felt after he gave in, the emotions of Elizabeth Lewis as she must have known what was about to happen. Emotions strong enough to drive him almost to kill. It's like the glove. The compulsion to use it is so strong, the possible consequences no longer factor. The device is still beeping at me, but I will not press the button. I recognize that hole and I won't jump in. Besides, what ghosts live here in the Torchwood hub? Certainly none I'd care to experience.

Gwen is still visibly shaken after the events of last night. (Owen really should think a little more before he speaks.) I sat on the couch with her for a while. I don't recall that either of us said anything, we just sat. I hope it helped. When she got up she put her hand on my arm and smiled a little smile. Maybe I'll mention to the Captain that he might speak with her. I think she just doesn't want to feel alone. Alone is never a good feeling. As he was alone and had no family to claim him, Ed Morgan's remains have been placed in storage. Torchwood may have a use for him, or at least his body, in the future. The Captain said that it might serve as some small repayment for his past. Ed Morgan is in cold storage and the Quantum Transducers have been placed in the Secure Archives. Hopefully neither will ever hurt anyone again.


	6. Pivot

For the first time since I started working at Torchwood 3, I'm glad they didn't ask me to play basketball or go with them to the pub. Although I must say I'm not sure which hurt more, the fact that even the pterodactyl was playing, or the way the Captain tossed the ball at me as he left with his team. When I ordered two pizzas for tonight, instead of my usual single, Annie teased me about having a 'hot date.' I'm sure she still thinks I'm gay. Tonight, none of it matters. Dr. Tanizaki is on his way over from his hotel.

Dr. Tanizaki arrived safely and has examined Lisa. I can't say that I was completely comfortable with that, the way that he touched her, but he is the one person who can help. Right now we have moved her upstairs to the autopsy table and he is assessing the next move. I wish he could stop looking at her like that, like an object.

* * *

It feels like years since it all happened, since my life lost meaning. I think it's only been a day, or maybe two. I've spent most of this day, today, here in the Tourist Office. Hiding, I suppose. How can I face them after what I've done? It's taken most of the day staring at the blank pages of this diary before I could think what to write, before I could bring myself to write. If I can't explain myself to myself, how can I to the team? To the Captain? With a very little distance and the numbness that has set in, I've started to feel, that is to think, that I lost Lisa a long time ago. When I found her after the battle, I truly believed that she was still alive. She spoke like Lisa, and she made me feel what I did for Lisa. Maybe all that it was, was a trace. A memory… and my wish to have it so. The Cyberman stole the memory of what Lisa and I had shared, and it used it, it used me. The Captain said it was looking for an opportunity to rebuild, to strike. But spoken with Lisa's voice, with her emotion, from her lips, how could I refuse her? I never could refuse her. I had thought if I did enough, fought long and hard enough, was clever enough, I could bring her back, that I could fix her. But she was already too far gone when I found her. The Cybermen killed her back at Canary Wharf; Torchwood killed her; the Captain and his team killed her; and I killed her.

Outside Torchwood I told the Captain that one day I'd have a chance to save him, but that I'd watch him suffer and die. I called him a monster. Maybe he was a monster, for ordering me to kill the woman I loved, for ordering me to choose between… Would I do anything different, had I to do it all over again? I like to think that the answer would be yes, but I can't be sure. I'm sure, that is, I believe, that if I had told him, Captain Harkness would have killed her, the Cyberman, right then and there. Hiding her here was wrong. It was dangerous, and it was wrong. I must have known that then, as well as I can see it now. But when she looked at me, I saw only Lisa. I never saw that what she had become was permanent, incurable. I've disobeyed the Captain. Not just in hiding a Cyberman in Torchwood, but in not doing what had to be done, what I should have done, what I could never do. When I saw what she, what it had done to Annie, I knew the Captain was right. She couldn't be fixed. She wasn't broken, but she wasn't Lisa anymore, either. There was no more Lisa, and now, because I couldn't kill her, now there was no more Annie. Looking at the Frankenstein's Monster that they had become, as horrified as I was, I still couldn't kill her. Having abandoned her metal and her strength, she was defenseless now. Did the Captain expect me to murder a defenseless woman? As he and the team did what I failed to do, I suppose so. But how could I? I tell myself, even without the metal, even in a new body, it wasn't Lisa. It didn't want me, it wanted upgrade. The Cyberman remained. That is why they killed her. It was not murder. It was still a Cyberman. It was always a Cyberman. I can't remember now, what I was thinking then, but it was probably the moment I began to realize what I should have done back at Canary Wharf. All the suffering she had endured over the last year, all the suffering I've caused here, for her, when who she was died so long ago.

I don't know how I feel, how I'm supposed to feel, if I ever will feel again. Now I have no one… just somebody to mourn. When I was trying to look after Lisa, all I felt was worry and fear. Now that I've lost everything, all I feel is dead. There really is no emotion any longer, just physical pain and fatigue. After all that has happened, I can't even cry anymore. Tears burn, but they won't fall.

I was trying to save Lisa, all the things I did, but I wonder if I was trying to save myself. I knew without her, I was alone, and that was one thing I could never face. I've thought about taking a dozen retcon. I've thought about taking my life. But I'm not certain I want to forget and I'm not certain I won't want to feel again one day. I want to tell the Captain why, I want to make him understand, but what if he tells me that my reasons weren't enough? or that they didn't matter? I fear that he'll say that only my actions matter, my actions and my betrayal.

The manager of Jubilee Pizza just stopped by with a free pizza and to say, "Sorry Annie forgot your coleslaw the other night. I don't know what's in that girl's head. She never even came back that night. We think she's run off with some guy. Her mum's all upset." More suffering because of me. I felt like I would, like I could cry. Almost. I guess the manager was watching. He looked confused at my reaction and said that he'd hate to loose such a loyalcustomer as me over this. He left a stack of 2-for-1 coupons and fairly fled the office. I wish I could run, but where? How far would it have to be to be of any use? 'Loyal.' If it were someone else, in a film or something, I could almost find it funny. I could laugh at the horror of it. If I could laugh anymore.

I thought for a while, that if I was helpful enough, and good at my job, I might find a home here. I've destroyed that too. When the Captain was furious with me, when he held his gun to my head, and when he accused me of hiding myself from them, I wanted to scream. I did scream. How could I hide myself from them when they never look at me? With their basketball games, their inside jokes, and their trips to the pub. I've never been a part of the team, and now I never will. Forget the invisible lift, I feel as if I'd had a perception filter permanently bonded to my soul.

I've been here in the Tourist Office all day, now. The Captain and Gwen are still here, but both Owen and Tosh have come and left. Owen smiled on his way past, but neither of us could hold eye contact for more than a second or two. Tosh stopped for a bit and tried to offer some support. She brought me a cup of coffee. It's getting late now and I don't think I can put it off any longer; I have to go down into the hub. I have to face Captain Harkness. If I don't, I might as well just leave here forever. I may not have a choice, but I have to try.

When I entered the hub, the Captain and Gwen were in the conference room. I expected him to either immediately throw me out or shoot me. Instead, all he did was nod. Just a single inclination of his head that I will take to mean: "You are not forgiven, but you are permitted to stay." It was more than I dared to hope, more than I deserved. I could think of nothing else I could do, but to tidy-up.

Once Gwen had left for the evening, and even though I was quite certain it would be 'the final straw,' I told the Captain about Dr. Tanizaki. I told him where he was hidden and I cried when I told him how it was my fault. I told him I was sorry and that I would never betray him or his trust again. The Captain didn't yell, he didn't fire me or retcon me. He took me in his arms and he held me until there were no more tears. Then he whispered, almost too softly to hear, "I know."


	7. Red Roses and Carnations

Note to self: Maintain eye contact. Smile. Everything is fine.

It's been almost a week now, since. Things are almost back to the way they were before. Almost. It still feels like no one is making eye contact with me, but as I'm not really looking at them either, I can't be sure. Tosh always has a little smile for me as she walks past, but she keeps her head down. Gwen keeps putting her hand on my arm as I deliver her coffee. I don't know how many times I've almost spilt it on her because of it. Owen doesn't say anything to me, Owenish or otherwise. I think it was a gesture, however, when I found his mug with the biological experiment left on the conference room table last night. I returned it to his desk. Maybe things really are improving after all. I've found myself avoiding the Captain. He might be the one person who will look me in the eye, and that is something that terrifies me.

Sleep is no longer something I want. It seems an enemy. Other times I want to sleep, but can't. Images of Lisa flood my mind. Then, when I do sleep, the images just get worse. I relive it every night. What she did, what she might have done. What I did, what I might have let happen. I see her chasing the team… I can't sleep, I don't want to sleep. Gwen said that the Captain doesn't sleep. If that's true, why does he have a bed down that portal in his office? Or does he just choose not to sleep because he has nightmares too?

There is a moment, is it part of the nightmare? Or part of the memory? I can, I think, remember the pain I felt as it was happening. Still, it seems real, but it couldn't be real. After she threw me across the hub, I was knocked-out. I could hear sounds, shouts and the like, then the Captain… I remember those pheromones. The scent of him, stronger than ever before. I remember him lifting me, holding me out of the water. I remember his body pressed tight to mine. And I remember… Maybe it was mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. I took CPR classes back at Torchwood One. When we were teamed-up to practice, it didn't feel like that… not until we rotated partners and I was teamed with… Lisa. It couldn't be real. There in the middle of a fight, why would the Captain? It doesn't make sense. And yet, I remember a kiss…

Smile. Everything will be fine.

* * *

I've dealt with dead bodies before, but never one for which I was responsible. I was so relieved when Tosh told me she had taken care of them all. Since Dr Tanizaki was so well known in his field, since he would be missed, a car accident had been staged for him. Torchwood didn't keep him. I went to visit Lisa. Tosh had put her and Annie in drawers next to each other. I think they would have liked each other, could even have been friends… I brought flowers. White carnations for Lisa. She loves the way they smell. Loved. She loved the way they smell. They were always her favorite. I placed them in the drawer handles. I can cry again now, but somehow it doesn't seem as urgent.

The Captain has once again told me to call him 'Jack.' Something about that just doesn't feel quite right. Growing up, I was taught to call those in authority 'Sir.' Plus, there's that whole 'Captain Jack' thing. Every time I say it, I hear that pirate theme music playing in my head. I do love that movie. 'Jack.' It just doesn't feel right. There's something, odd. Still, if he insists, I suppose I'll just have to practice until it does. Jack. Jack. Jack.

I found quite a few red rose petals in the Captain's… in Jack's office as I was cleaning-up this evening. I don't remember him getting any flowers. Who sent him flowers and why would he hide them?

* * *

Last night I couldn't sleep, again. There was no point staying at home if all I was going to do was stare at the ceiling and try not to remember, so I came back in to work. Tosh had been working on a new rift monitoring program and asked me to keep an eye on it when she wasn't around. At three in the morning there was no rift activity, but I found that if you tuned the thing just a little one way it showed the weather over the city. If you tuned it the other it picked-up BBC Radio 2. I was just going to make some notes in the file when I noticed the Captain was awake and in his office. When he saw me I felt like a deer in the headlights. Then, when he said, "You shouldn't be here." for a moment I thought that he meant more: 'You shouldn't be here, not anymore, never again. I should never have allowed you to stay; you should leave, get out.' Then I realized that sleep depravation can lead to paranoia, so I answered, "Neither should you." And I sat down at the terminal with Tosh's program. If he didn't yell or throw me out within 10 seconds, I figured I was safe. In fact there was no yelling or throwing, but the Captain put his hand on my shoulder. I really didn't know what to say, so I pointed-out the weird weather.

For a bunch of scientists and investigators, this lot seems to know an awful lot about 'fairies' and the like. The Cap… Jack has told Tosh to set-up a program to monitor for unusual weather patterns. I wonder why he doesn't just use the re-tuned rift monitor. Maybe there's something on BBC 2 later.

While Jack, Gwen and Owen were in Roundstone Woods, I intercepted a police call about the arrest of a mad man. He had been yelling about being chased by something invisible. I'd say that was something worth checking on.

While they were with the police, the Captain got a call from an old friend of his. He headed over to check on her, but she was already dead. It would seem she drowned in her otherwise dry backyard. Maybe the fairy theory isn't so farfetched after all. The Captain is more upset by this then he is letting on, and I don't think it's the fairies or the case that has him this unsettled. Did I mention the cat? Apparently his name is Moses, and he will be staying with us for a while. (A colder man would here insert a comment about Moses' inability to part the backyard.) As it is, I think it best if the cat lives in the Tourist Office. The pterodactyl keeps circling.

Gwen called. She couldn't get through to Jack. When she got back to her place, someone had broken-in and ransacked the place. She said there were rose petals strewn about. Red rose petals at that. That seems too much for coincidence. Jack is going over there now to check it out. On his way out, I told him that I'd found rose petals while cleaning his office. Before I could stop myself, I told him to be careful. He never turned around, but paused that pause he does and said, "Careful, Ianto. People will think you care." What did he mean by that? Of course I care. It's not like anyone has ever accused me of being careless. Besides, whenever anything happens to a Torchwood employee, there's a truckload of paperwork. Why else would I care? It's not like I care more than if something might happen to say, Owen or something.

* * *

The Captain wanted a report on any unexplained deaths in Cardiff. There really aren't as many as one might expect, and nothing that seems linked to 'fairies' or the like. There were, however, quite a number of disappearances lately north of the city, up in Brecon Beacons. I've found 8 in the last 2 months. In an area as rural as that, it must work out to 105 of the population gone missing. Maybe some more researching is warranted.

The weather detector issued a Severe Danger Alert for the Coed y Garreg Primary School. The team has gone to check on it. The Captain was driving. I know he won't take any notice, but I have warned him again about the wear on the SUV's tires. If he doesn't let me take it in to have them replaced, there's going to be an accident. (And a rather spectacular accident at that.)

Owen and Tosh were telling me about the creatures. Owen described them as 'manky underfed green cadavers with dragonfly wings.' I'm sorry I missed that, no, really I am. One doesn't often get a chance to be brutally attacked by something that hideous everyday. (Nothing anyone could say would convince me to try fieldwork.) They kill by suffocation with those rose petals. Red rose petals. Like the ones in the Captain's Office? They'd been here? Those things had been in the hub and no one had seen them? In Jack's office? And after they killed Lynn Pearce's boyfriend Roy, Tosh said that one of the things went after the Captain as well, but that Gwen managed to knock him clear. She probably saved his life. (I just remembered I should get some more of that chocolate-almond coffee, the one Gwen likes so much.) They were talking about how the Captain just let the fairies take Jasmine Pearce away. The team all thinks he should have fought for her. Jack's in his office and looks like he's got a headache. I know how he feels.

Maintain eye contact. Smile.

After the rest left for the night, I took the Captain, Jack, some tea for his headache. As I was about to leave he said that they just didn't understand, there was nothing else he could have done. I sat with him while he told me that he had to let her go. If he didn't, if he'd fought, the fairies would have destroyed everything. They would have torn apart the world to get to her. He must have gone on for 10 minutes without a breath, before he ran out of words. Then he poured me a drink and we talked.


	8. Fieldwork

I still can't bring myself to call the Captain anything but 'Sir' to his face. I can write 'Jack,' I can refer to 'Jack.' I just can't seem to say 'Jack' to Jack. Still practicing.

I presented my Brecon Beacons research to Jack (calling him Sir the entire time, of course.) I was able to find reports of 17 missing persons in the last 5 months, all within a 20 mile radius. Before that, the last missing person report filed had been almost a year prior and it wasn't even a person. Someone had actually filed a police report on a missing goat. To be fair, they had waited the mandatory 72 hours before declaring the goat as missing. Anyway, the last person to be reported was just 4 days ago, an Ellie Johnson. Disappeared on the road, mid-call to her dad. A vehicle matching the description, license tag # KT55LDC, was found at a used car lot in Swansea that was known to deal in stolen vehicles.

I had worked-up charts that showed relative positions of last known locations, times of day and days of the week. Cross referenced to season, lunar cycle and tides. I noted that there were no apparent patterns found in age, race, gender, height, weight, hair or eye colour, orientation or economic situation. And I put it all together in a nice tidy binder. Jack just closed the cover and looked at it for what must have been a full minute. Then he started to look like he was going to laugh. He just sat there with a strained look on his face. Then he did. He laughed at me, at my report. I was stunned. I'd always been praised for the thoroughness of my reports back at the Tower (those that Alonso hadn't lost, that is.) Never had I had a supervisor laugh. I must have looked hurt; when Jack looked at me he tried to stifle the laughter again, so it came out as a kind of sniggering snort. I thought I'd spend the rest of the day in the Tourist Office. I could feel Owen's stare through my back as I left the Captain's office and headed up the stairs. The Captain had settled down to a quiet kind of snickering by now, that one that always makes his eyes tear-up.

Just as I finished writing that, he came upstairs. He still had tears in his eyes from laughing too hard. I think my face was as red as my tie, but I wasn't embarrassed now, so much as angry. Make eye contact and smile. "Something you needed, Sir?" Then, as easy to predict as ever, Captain Jack Damn-smart-ass Harkness gives me that bigger than life grin of his and says, "Damn! You're good at this!" I must have looked as confused as I felt, 'cause he continued, "Government, U.N.I.T., police, I read a lot of reports. And I do mean a lot! But you! You are good. It makes me wonder what other talents you're keeping hidden, Ianto Jones. Get packed. Road trip!" He was half-way back through the door before I managed to get out a strangled, "Sir?" I could hear his boots receding down the hall as he yelled back, "I said, get packed. You're coming with us… And don't call me 'Sir.'"

* * *

When Jack said 'get packed,' I should have known what I was in for. He hasn't told the rest of the team yet, but the plan is to drive out into the middle of the Brecon Beacons and look for the cause of all these disappearances, from a campsite. Not a hotel room, a conference center, a police station. No, a campsite. Jack likes to camp. Jack wouldn't like camping so much if he knew how much work it was. Torchwood has all the equipment. Sure it does, it was all bought surplus after WWII (or was that WWI? The tents smell like WWI.) I've had to inventory everything, buy what was missing, as well as pack the SUV. This is going to get cramped. I actually had to remove some of the computer equipment, just so a fifth passenger can fit. I tried to tell Jack, but he said that he'd prefer to have me than a computer any day. I wasn't sure if I should feel honored, or harassed. With Jack, I guess it's a bit of both.

* * *

It's just dawn the morning of my first field mission with the team. Is this my first mission? How involved will I be expected to be? Better not forget my gun. Where is my gun? I think it's still in the shoebox under the Tourist Office desk. Will I even need my gun? If the team leaves, do I go with them? Or do I stay behind and watch the camp, like I watch the hub? I'll just have to wait and see what Jack wants from me when the time comes. First mission or no, what do I wear? Since I was hired, I've only worn suits. Jack still complements them fairly often, but I think I'd really feel the odd-man-out sitting around the campfire in a suit. Maybe if I dressed more like the rest of the team… I don't think I own a black leather coat.

There were only three tents in the Torchwood supply room. Granted, they are large tents, but there are 5 of us and I wonder how Jack plans on distributing us. I assume that the ladies will share and that Jack will have his own, but that would leave me with… Owen. I really don't want to share a tent with Owen. Anyone but Owen. Maybe I'll sleep in the SUV. I could say I snore and don't want to disturb him. I still have that old tent, maybe I should have brought it along. Still, that wouldn't be very team-like, in my own little tent off to the side. The tents are quite large; maybe I could bunk with Tosh and Gwen. We'll just have to wait and see what Jack has in mind for the sleeping arrangements.

Waiting at the hub. Waiting. Waiting. Everything is ready and packed. I have Thermos… Thermoses… Thermosi? Full of everyone's favourite coffees. I made breakfast sandwiches for everyone. The sun is up and still we wait. We wait for Owen.

Gwen looks grumpy. Apparently not a morning person. I wonder if I should point out to her that her socks don't match. The way she just snapped at Jack, I'm thinking, nope, her socks are fine just as they are.

Poor Tosh, she looks like she had a rough night. I hope Owen cuts her some slack when he finally does arrive. I wonder if he'll ever notice the way she looks at him. Anyone who can't see when someone likes him that much must be blind, or a little bit thick.

Then there's Jack, what can one say about Jack? Apparently nothing, because Owen's finally strolled in complaining about something or the other, and now we can get going.

No, apparently we can't get going until we get it sorted who is sitting where. Jack's behind the wheel slowly banging his forehead on the top of it. Owen keeps offering the front to Tosh. Tosh wants the back, says she gets carsick up front on long trips.

In the end, when I offered to sit up front, Gwen grabbed me by the arm and said we don't talk enough and dragged me into the backseat with her. She then pointed-out that due to Tosh's sensitive stomach, she had better join us in the back. I'm beginning to think that she just didn't want to spend several hours jammed-in next to Owen (and that Tosh did.) Is this how all Torchwood missions begin? In any case, after one short stop for some burgers, we've arrived and made camp. That is to say that we arrived, and some of us made camp. Well, I say 'some,' I mean 'Tosh and I.' In all fairness, Gwen did try to help. She was just rather awkward and after she hit my hand with the mallet, rather than the tent peg, for the fourth time, we set her to sorting the supplies. Owen spent so much time complaining about camping, Tosh and I had the other two tents up and done (even with Gwen's 'help') before he had even gotten the third out of the SUV. Then he had the gall to accuse me of not packing all the parts!

I hope I left enough food and water for Moses the cat.

As I was setting up the cots, I could hear the 'snog' conversation develop. I thought about going for a walk, switching all of the equipment from one tent to the other, pretending not to hear, or just plain hiding. But I was distracted by Tosh's apparent jealousy over some kiss that Owen and Gwen had shared. (Aggressive for Tosh, that comment about Gwen getting her feet under the table, added to what she had said to Owen earlier about helping him get his tent up. I've heard Tosh say some things that would make a sailor blush, but only between us, not in front of the rest of the team, and especially not in front of Owen.) Then lighten the mood: its Jack's turn. But surprise! Jack never answers. He deflects, "Are we including non-human life-forms?" No one ever expects a straight answer from Jack, and Jack doesn't disappoint. I almost deflect the conversation myself. I consider questioning who really was Jack's last kiss, or drawing attention back to Tosh's attraction to Owen. Either would distract the attention away from me, and my inevitable answer. Neither is something I would do. I fear the answer to the first and the second would just be un-gallant. Instead I press on. Much as it hurts, I take my turn. I'm part of the team now. Aren't I? I don't hide myself from them, not anymore. The unease on their faces begins to show as they remember what my answer must be.

Eye contact. Smile.

I say what they all know; the last person I kissed was Lisa. Unless, that is, I wasn't dreaming and the last person Jack kissed wasn't alien, just Welsh.

The wind sounded louder. Deafening. It was the only sound now as no one knew what to say. I was actually grateful to Owen for breaking it by going to get firewood, and for taking Gwen with him. (I have always gotten the sense that Owen has as much experience defusing tense situations as he does with creating them. He must have had an interesting childhood.) Tosh just stared at the horizon. I knew we'd talk later, when it was quiet, and just the two of us. Jack, the Captain, just looked at me. I think maybe he was trying to judge me, or my feelings. He was trying to look at me and see how I felt now, about what had happened back then, about the past. He looked like he was trying to decide if I'm worthy of his trust yet (or ever?) He seemed to be measuring me… but for what? He has a certain level of intensity. Whatever it was, I had to look away.

While looking for wood, Owen and Gwen have discovered a body. We're going to investigate. 'We' are going to investigate. At first I wasn't sure if that meant me. I must have stood there a minute or so until Jack turned and asked me if I were waiting for an engraved invitation. I've got to get any equipment together that might be needed. Anticipate the team's needs. What we might need. We. Who ever thought I'd be in the field?

Tosh is unconscious still, but she's breathing. I turned and she was gone. I don't know where… Okay. Focus. Start at the beginning: We were taking care of the crime scene. There was a body without flesh or skin or organs. It was just left there in the forest. While we were investigating, someone or something took the SUV, wrecking the camp in the process. Maybe they don't have cars on whatever planet they're from. Certainly not the best drivers. We set off after the SUV. Because I had the signal tracker, the team… the rest of the team followed me. Then, as we were walking, Jack's boot caught on a loose rock and he stumbled. I caught his arm and kept him from falling. He said "See, I knew you'd be useful." It was an odd sensation. I felt useful. The tracker led us to a small village. A really small village. Jack sent Tosh and me after the SUV while the rest of the team would check-out the village. I didn't think splitting-up was a good idea, but a junior on his first mission doesn't question the Captain, so off we went. Next time, if there is a next time, I am going to question… a lot.

Tosh and I headed off alone. I wondered if she was bothered to be paired with the 'tea boy' (Owen certainly would have been.)When we got to the row of brick houses set back in the middle of nothing, Tosh retrieved the tracker from me. I was amazed she hadn't taken it back earlier, still it was funny. Sweet as Tosh is, she is very possessive of her 'tech stuff.' I hope she didn't resent me having it. I hope she doesn't resent being paired with me. When I turned around and she was gone, I was sorry that she'd been paired with me, stuck with me. Would Owen have lost her? I wasn't trained for this. They knocked me down from behind. Maybe if I had a clue, if I knew what I was doing, they wouldn't have gotten behind me. Now we're here, Tosh and I, in this cellar, this dark pit. Alone. Where's Jack? Why isn't he here? To do all the right things, to save us all? But he isn't here. So okay, now what? How do we get out? Follow protocols. Find our strengths. Discover their weaknesses. Make a plan. First things first, Tosh needs to wake-up.

* * *

Owen told me I've a concussion and to take it easy for a while. He said that some patchy memory loss is common and not to worry. I do worry. I worry that I'll remember more. Some of it is already starting to come back. A refrigerator full of… a locked steel door, shoes, Tosh being brave and trying to distract me, trying to help me feel brave too. Tosh. She seems so quiet and shy. I wish I had her strength, her convictions, her confidence when things go weird.

Tosh tells me I sacrificed myself so she could escape, to get away to get help. She tells me I was heroic. I don't remember heroic, I only remember scared.

I do remember wanting Tosh safe, wanting that monster to stop touching her. I couldn't stop him from going after her, from chasing her. I remember what he wanted to do to her, to all of us. Food. Us. To eat us. Eye contact. Smile.

I remember pain and fireworks inside my head. Yelling, laughing, pain again (or still?) a knife at my throat. I have a small cut there, so some of all this must be true, must've happened. And the Captain, our Captain with a shotgun… or was it that revolver of his? I'm not sure. At that point it all went dark again.

As I'm writing this, on the tailgate of the SUV (that was found right where Tosh's tracker said it would be) the sun is shining, birds are singing, I feel a new kind of pain that may never go away. I realize that of all the horrors we have faced, and those yet to come, this is worse. All those creatures out there who would come to do damage, come to destroy, or to enslave, would they come if they knew? If they knew what kind of monsters are already here? And would people commit this sort of horror if they knew what was waiting in return, out in the universe? I had to go back into that cellar to get my backpack. I almost left it there, but it had my diary in it, the last thing Lisa had ever given me, and I couldn't leave it. I couldn't leave it there. Now all the windows are open and it is full of crime scene investigators in their paper clothes and rubber gloves, it didn't look so terrifying. Now that we know it was people who did all this, however, it's even more horrific. I remember it all now, and I have new horrors to be added to my arsenal of nightmares.

Owen called from the hospital. Gwen is fine and he'll be taking her home soon. Tosh slept in the backseat all the way home. What horrors could she have already faced that she could sleep so soundly after a night like we just had? Neither Jack nor I spoke a single word the entire time. As I sat starring out the window, I think I felt him look in my direction more than once. We dropped Tosh at her place and that left Jack and me to take the SUV back to the hub.

Now we're back in the hub I took a shower and changed. It helped. A little.

* * *

Last night, after I changed back into my normal work clothes, I stood. I don't know how long, but I stood looking at the hub. I thought of the job and what it takes from you. I thought about what Tosh had said, that it's worth the risk, to protect people. Maybe she's right. I think about all those people, every ten years (for how long?) who didn't have someone to rescue them from the horror. Who didn't have a Captain Jack Harkness in his long coat and his gun blazing. I realized I wasn't Jack, could never be like Jack, but maybe in time, I could help. But I also realized that I'm not quite ready. He came and stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders. He spoke quietly, and I closed my eyes to feel him there with me as much as I could. He asked me if I wanted to take some time off, or at least take a long weekend away. I really didn't think that staying home or going on a trip would do any good for the way I felt. I told Jack that I thought it might be best if I took a little time before attempting any more fieldwork. He tried to convince me to keep at it. He told me that I hadn't done badly and that I had 'strong' potential. I asked if it could just stay 'potential' for a little while longer. Jack turned me to face him and smiled. He told me "Just let me know when you're ready. For you, I can wait."

I don't know how to describe what happened next. Jack took me by the hand and led me to the couch. There he took my jacket and tie off before gently guiding me to sit. I really didn't know what to do or say as he bent down and took off my shoes as well. I remember an image flashed before by eyes of all the shoes in the cellar. But it faded as quickly as it had appeared when Jack sat on the other end of the couch. He looked at me again with one of those measuring stares, but this one wasn't intimidating. Then he smiled. It wasn't that big Harkness grin, it was one I'd never seen before, and it was much, much better. I looked away, not sure what to say or do, or what was happening. That's when I felt him pull me over, off balance, so now I was laying on my side on the couch.

Laid there, my head resting on his leg, his hand in my hair, I found it so easy to talk to him. Relaxed for the first time in nearly two years, I could tell him how I worried for him. How I… What I… Things I can't even bring myself to write now. Jack listened. Then it was his turn. He didn't joke, he didn't tease, he didn't deflect. He told me how he felt. How he felt about me. How he'd felt for quite a long time. Looking back now, I'm not sure it wasn't just a dream, because that's how I fell asleep last night; on the couch with Jack, his hand playing with my hair. And the last thing I remember, or the first thing I dreamed, was him whispering "You can sleep now. I won't let anything happen to you, Ianto."


	9. Staplers and Stopwatches

We were only gone 42 hours, yet being here today seems unreal. Like when one returns from a long holiday away to find everything familiar looks just that little bit different. Moses the cat seems happy we're back. He keeps sitting on my lap or rubbing up against my leg. When Jack came up to check the security logs he said Moses had the right idea. Jack. I'm not quite sure where all this could be headed. It was easy when I wasn't sure if Jack was flirting with me, if he was serious or not. I could ignore it or feel flattered as the mood struck me. Now comes the sorting out. How do I feel about this? Him? I've never… He… I… As I woke-up on the couch this morning, exactly where I remember falling asleep last night, I have to assume it wasn't a dream. My head was still on his leg and his hand still in my hair. I could hear him softly breathing, not quite a snore. One thing I can say, that was the first night I'd slept through in about two years. If I dreamt at all, there were no nightmares. There on the couch in the hub, with Jack, was the safest and happiest I've felt in a very long time. Jack. Maybe what has surprised me the most (aside from this new and rather alarming attraction to a man?) is that the way I fell asleep is exactly how I woke up. Reputation (mostly from Jack himself) says that he would have left in the night, moved on, gone off and left me alone come morning. If I had awoken alone, would I be considering what I think I'm considering? Is this what I've been needing? Who I've been needing?

And now I have all sorts of hair on my trouser legs from him rubbing up against me. (Moses the cat, not Jack.)

I didn't feel awkward when we woke up. I would have imagined… not that I would have imagined… Given the circumstances, and that I'd never… (I really need to stop writing this in ink!) Even though nothing happened, a certain amount of awkwardness at waking-up together on the couch could be assumed. There wasn't. Aside from a quick thought of possible morning breath, I actually felt quite comfortable. I sat up and asked him if he wanted coffee. He replied, 'Always.' By the time I got upstairs to the coffee machine I expected him to be gone, away in his office or checking the vaults. Instead he was right behind me, waiting. I told him he could have waited there, that I deliver. When will I learn to watch what I say around that man?

Now that the morning has stretched on, I can't remember a time when I didn't hurt. I've discovered bruises places I never knew could bruise. Is it all worth it? As I stand here by the coffee machine yet again, looking out over the hub, I can see everyone. There isn't much activity today. They're all recovering from the trip. Jack's now down in his office. He said he'd take care of all the paperwork on this one. He told me earlier today that out in Brecon Beacons, he'd sent me with Tosh to track-down the car because he thought it'd be safer. For my first field mission, he had never intended to send me into harm's way. When he said that, he touched the bruise on my neck, the one just below my collar. It hurt when he did that, but I didn't… I think I didn't want him to stop. Just received a text on my phone. It's from Tosh. She's waving at me from her desk and smiling, still looking fine, considering. Her message just says "2 cute." It has a picture attached. While I haven't seen much of her today, she must have come in early. It's a picture of Jack and me, both asleep on the couch from this morning. Can't decide if I should delete it… or not.

For now I've just saved the picture, as Owen has appeared, anxious for his coffee. All today he has looked at me with an odd expression on his face. On anyone else, I'd say it was a look of concern.

Gwen keeps downing those pain pills, and I don't think they're helping her much. She's trying to look like it doesn't bother her, but I can see through it. Owen's worried about her too. He's keeping a close eye on her. Maybe Jack could let her go early. There's no rift activity. She could use more rest.

I spoke with Jack and he ended-up letting everyone go early. He looked like he was going to launch into one of his suggestive comments (that smirk with the raised eyebrow) but then he just looked at me and said, 'That means you too. Get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow.' I'm still not sure if I was glad, or severely disappointed.

Five weevil sightings in the night. Jack took care of them all so he wouldn't have to call anyone back into work. I've spent the better part of today scrubbing weevil mucus out of Jack's coat lapels. I still really like this coat.

* * *

Tosh's day is not starting off well. When she came in this morning she looked ready to cry. The way she was able to handle cannibals in the countryside, I was sure the world must be coming to an end… or worse. Nope, she'd just managed to start the day by spilling her tea all over her notes on that new imaging device we found last week, had both car trouble and ran out of gas, and then, to cap it all off she said she might have to delay running that translation program she's been so exited about since she's getting such a late start this morning. I know all about those kinds of days. I took her tea in a cup with a lid. At least that made her laugh.

There's something odd between Owen and Gwen. I think they must have had one hell of a fight over something. They are both acting unusually tense around each other this morning.

On second thought, I think Owen and Gwen had something other than a fight.

The scans picked-up a call to the police regarding the discovery of a skeleton while workers were excavating for another office building. Normally not very interesting, but the bones were found buried near a device of some sort described as looking like a crab. Who could resist a giant metal crab? And as everyone seems to be looking for work this morning, why not? Besides, surprising the number of alien artifacts unearthed at construction sites.

When I picked-up my phone to text everyone, there was that picture that Tosh had taken. I hit the delete key, but when it asked 'Are you sure?' I had to hit cancel. What does that mean?

Jack asked me again if I wanted to go with them to investigate. How can I explain to him how I feel? I'm drained. I told him I feel like in the old movie, 'Jason and the Argonauts' the Greeks stop on an island and battle a giant bronze statue. Only way they can defeat it is by unscrewing a bolt in it's heal, and letting the sand drain out of it. I'm the bronze statue, and someone has made all my sand drain out. The thought of going into the field… I just can't do it again. Not yet. The way I feel, that analogy made sense. When I told it to Jack, however, he gave me that look. The look where he tilts his head to the right and frowns just a little lopsidedly. "You're a Greek statue and someone has drained you by screwing with your leg?" What else should I have expected from Jack? Yes Jack, that's exactly how I feel.

The team has returned with the skeleton of a woman who had been shot and an alien device that Jack refers to as a 'stapler.' I think he wants to keep me involved with the team, even if I don't want to do fieldwork again yet. He asked me to help him with the scans and said he'd have someone else take care of the U.N.I.T. report.

Gwen was complaining again about that guy that keeps showing-up at investigations, and how he gets in the way. He was there again when they were leaving the construction site. She wanted me to compile a dossier on him and to which sites he has been, to see how he knows where Torchwood will be, what he might know. Jack came up just then and told her that he was the only one who gave out work assignments and that he was planning on keeping me occupied for quite a while. I told her later to give me the guy's name and what other information she had and I'd see what I could find out for her.

While we were investigating the stapler (wouldn't that be great if that is exactly what it turned out to be?) Jack asked me to get him that carbon scanner from his desk drawer. When I opened the drawer, there was a copy of Tosh's cell phone picture. Apparently she's sent it to him as well and Jack printed it. He printed it. He kept it. I got halfway back to where he was waiting before I realized that I'd forgotten the scanner. Without looking, I could feel Jack's grin as I turned to go back to his office again. Does he know I saw the picture? Is that why he asked me to get the scanner?

Owen had shut-off Tosh's computer while she was running her translation program. He was messing around with Gwen (guess her new pain pills are working then.) Tosh's been working on that program for over a month, but Owen was rather insensitive. Shocking, that. Tosh has left early for the day. She said she was going for a drink, but I think she just needed to get away from Owen for a while.

* * *

Rough night at home last night. Is that how it's going to be? I can only sleep in the hub? Or is it I can only sleep with Jack?

While I was getting the coffee this morning, Jack told me I should wear brighter colours. He said that white and grey shirts are drab and don't suit me. Do I really want to take fashion advice from a man who wears braces and a belt at the same time? I ran into Tosh in the Tourist Office on her way in this morning. She looks nervous, or upset. Wonder if her car's still giving her problems.

Jack asked me to brew him some of his industrial strength coffee. I think that the stapler is giving him more problems than he lets on. He doesn't talk much when something is bothering him. We're out of clean cups again. Maybe if everyone could manage to get them to the sink when they were done… no, too busy saving the world for that. Maintain eye contact and smile.

Tosh says that there are 'Torchwood Watchers' on the internet. That anything like 'Weight Watchers?' Still, better have a look around and see if there's any threat there.

While researching, I found some rather interesting information. Apparently, the Prime Minister has been briefing the opposition on Torchwood activities. When I told Jack, he was, needless to say, rather unhappy with that situation. I was privy to a display of Jack's more colourful vocabulary. He says he'll take care of it. Elections coming up and all, I tend to wonder just what he meant by that. From what I've seen in the files, Torchwood has had some influence historically. May be that more than one election has been… influenced. Still, would that new guy be any better? There's something too perfect, and a little odd about Harold Saxon.

* * *

Owen checked me over this morning to see if everything was okay after my concussion. He said I need to get more rest, but that I was back to normal (or at least normal for me.) I really didn't feel like sparring with him this morning, I think I'll just put sugar in his coffee later.

Tosh has been really nice to me today. Does she know something I don't? Why is Jack having her do the U.N.I.T. report instead of me? I always do all the admin. Am I getting sacked?

While I was writing that, Tosh just came up and gave me a hug for no apparent reason. She was talking to Owen earlier. Oh shit! Am I dying?

I talked to Jack. He says I'm not dying, and I'm not getting sacked (although he did get a strange look on his face after he said 'sacked,' then he laughed. I don't even want to know.) Anyway, I mentioned that Tosh has been acting a little odd lately and he had noticed as well. He told me not to talk about it with her just yet. When I said, "Whatever you say, you're the boss." Jack told me he'd hold me to that. I'm really going to have to watch what I say to that man.

The post mortem on the skeleton shows that it is not a woman and that death was not by gunshot. Owen seems to be slipping professionally.

I helped Jack with the stapler investigation again. I say 'helped' but really I stood and held the scanner while he hit the thing with a hammer. I asked him what he really thought the thing was used for. Jack came-up with a whole litany of really perverted ideas, culminating with chasing me around the table with it. That man has a uniquely dirty mind.

Owen's spending a lot of time working on that skeleton. It's quiet around the hub again, but it's more than that. He's really determined to find out who killed that man, 200 years ago. Owen likes to pretend that he's shallow or callous, that things don't bother him. That he doesn't, as he is so fond of saying, 'Give a rat's ass,' about anything (or anyone.) I think he cares a lot more than he would or could ever admit. What happened to him to make him so guarded, so defensive? Oh, and by the way, the biological experiment mug is back. It was in the microwave oven today. That's a new one. Just shows how quiet it is, Owen was forced to be creative.

* * *

It's never a good thing to come into a room and hear "Plucked out his heart." Tosh had made a new friend. Unfortunate, that the friend happened to be a rather hostile alien who ate human hearts. It was all too familiar. It felt… it felt like Lisa. Tosh didn't bring her to the hub to cause a problem, she brought her to help. But when Mary was there with the knife to Tosh's throat, it... it was like in Brecon Beacons all over again. To feel a knife at your throat. A knife held by someone not only capable, but more than willing to use it. There was nothing I could do, nothing anyone could do. Except Jack. Jack always does what has to be done. I thought that it was a bluff, that the thing was so rusty it couldn't still work, but it does, it did. There's Jack, he always does what has to be done. It's not any easy thing to deal with, but it was what had to happen. Just like it was before. Back then. I felt for Tosh, though, when Jack joked about sending Mary to the center of the sun at night. He does it to steel himself, when he hates what he's done, what he's had to do. But it's too much. Too much for Tosh when she didn't mean any harm.

So it turns out that Mary had given Tosh a pendant that let her hear other people's thoughts. Brilliant. These last few days she's been hearing a lot more than she ever wanted. Tosh and I talked for a long time in the conference room while Owen and Gwen hovered outside. They must've been worried about what Tosh had learnt about them. If they just took a moment to look at themselves, they'd realize that a mind-reading pendant wasn't necessary. They broadcast their relationship fairly full-volume. Tosh is worried what they think of her now. Upset as she was at what they thought of her then, she's more worried about what they think of her now.

Almost funny, listening with the pendant Tosh felt like she was an outsider. Not so long ago, when I had felt that way, excluded, I really saw Tosh as central to the group. Find out now that she'd always felt a little on the edge and now completely outside. I wonder if everyone in the group feels like they're on the outside.

Tosh said that the pendant was almost addictive. Even after she heard thoughts that hurt, she still couldn't stop. I could sympathize, being in a place you never chose, but being equally unable to stop or get out. I don't think that was what upset her most. It was falling for the wrong person. She had really started to care for Mary, and thought that Mary returned those feelings. Now she isn't sure if it hadn't all been a lie. She talked about being used by people you care for. I told her that sometimes you don't have a choice, who you fall in love with. Sometimes, no matter how hard you fight it, you fall anyway. Then she talked about calling Mary a person at all. Apparently Mary was really a floating see-through creature who had taken that form from a human 200 years ago. I went with Tosh through Jack's big binder of alien mug shots, but none of them looked like what Mary did in her natural state. I'll have to research that a bit more when time allows.

I never asked if she had worn the pendant around me. I really like Tosh; I hope I didn't think anything to upset her. I hope I didn't think about Jack. Did she wear it around Jack? Did he think about me? Should I ask? Do I want to know?

I told Tosh to talk it over with Jack, outside the hub, away from the others. Tell him why. Don't keep it buried. He has a way… he can make you… it just helps. After Lisa, I took too long, but once we finally talked, that was when I could move on. Perspective. Jack provides a unique perspective. I knew it would be good for Tosh, and it would give Jack a chance to show her that he wasn't mad at her, and that he cares for her more than his cold reaction earlier had implied.

Jack asked me to start the paperwork on this incursion. He said that Tosh had destroyed the pendant. (That's a whole different set of forms to be filled out.) He also sent me up to retrieve the fragments that were left. I wish he'd been more specific about which bench they were under.

* * *

Rift activity has been minimal now for a while, not that I'm complaining. Just leaves time to fill. The files are finally caught-up again. The hub is as tidy as it will allow itself to get. So, I was minding the Tourist Office, thinking about nothing when in walks Jack. He flashes one of those smiles and heads for the main door. Then he does that thing where he stops, waits about five seconds, and then says, 'Why?' He turns to face me and then continues with the question. Today he asks me why I'm polishing my stopwatch. The case was smudged, I reply. 'No…' (Five more seconds) 'Why do you carry a stopwatch?' He's moved closer and is now directly across the counter from me. 'I've known a lot of people, and aside from a long-distance runner or two, you (that smile again) are the only one I've known to carry a stopwatch.' He leans over the counter now. 'Why?'

"Think about it, Sir." (I'm resisting an urge, but I'm not sure if it is an urge to lean away… or forward. To run… or to kiss him.) "There's lots of things you can do with a stopwatch."

'Such as?' (Now it's that slightly lopsided smirk with the head tilt.)

"Well…" (Has it suddenly gotten quite warm in here?) "You could time a race…"

'Not very creative, or practical around here… Unless Owen is planning on racing his lab rats again.'

"Well…" (Remember to have that thermostat checked.) "You… You could…"

'I?... I could?...' Then he leaned further over the counter and whispered in my ear. As I think I've mentioned before, Jack Harkness has a singularly dirty mind. I really had no idea how to respond, short of a few sputters and coughs. I'm sure I would have come up with a retort, eventually. I was saved, however, by a rather lost American family who came in looking for the Millennium Centre. 'I'll show you,' he told them. And as Jack held the door for them, he said to me, 'And if you're ever interested, just let me know. I would love to show you.'


	10. Choices and Emotions

Looks like the death at the marina was accidental, no alien involvement at all. Quite nice that the Rift seems to have taken a few days off. Other than a few scattered Weevils, it's been so quiet Jack thinks that we might have time to work on some of the unidentified artifacts that have begun to pile-up.

Owen was trying to copy something on the new Xerox machine this evening, and not having a good time of it. I offered to help, but he insisted that he could get it. He crawled on his back, climbed over the top, and opened the service doors. Five minutes later, after a lot of swearing and talk about medical degrees and test scores, he stood back. I showed him the big green button marked 'start', the button on the top.

The biological experiment mug has reappeared next to the couch. I guess that Owen needs to feel vindicated

I mentioned that I was considering a new car which resulted in Tosh and Gwen getting into a rather heated debate over that new ATMOS thing everyone is having installed. Tosh is all for the benefits to the environment and Gwen is against the thing telling you where to go and how to get there. (I wonder if her boyfriend ever feels the same.) For a while it looked like it would come to blows. Jack, Owen and I ended-up sitting on the couch just watching. Only thing missing was popcorn. Regarding ATMOS, think I'll give the whole thing a pass for now.

* * *

As often as Torchwood intervenes in police investigations, it's really something quite rare for them to call and request our presence. I was rather surprised when I answered the phone this morning and a Detective Kathy Swanson did just that. I have the distinct feeling she isn't Torchwood's biggest fan. Rather short on manners. In any case, the rest of the team went to see just what it was, that was troubling Cardiff's finest. When they arrived, they were presented with a double homicide. Mark and Sara Briscoe, dead in their bedroom, with "Torchwood" written on the wall in their own blood. Trying to get our attention? Or maybe just a unique idea for redecorating. In addition, there was another apparently related death yesterday, an Alex Arwyn. What was even more curious, the killer's D.N.A. indicated the presence of retcon

I've compiled a list of all persons retconned in the last five years. I've only had a chance to scan it, but there are a few names that are quite recognizable. Probably should start checking what's happened to everyone since. It'll take a while, but it's something Jack is likely going to need to know.

Jack came back from that crime scene this morning and stopped by the Tourist Office on his way in. I was in the back room, changing the ink cartridge in the upstairs printer, so I didn't hear him right away. By the time I came out he's behind the counter, that innocent, butter-wouldn't-melt look on his face. I asked him if there was anything I could help him with and he just grinned and said, 'Yeah, I'm sure there is.' Then he heads for the door. I noticed that my stopwatch was no longer on the counter, and ask him if he's seen it. Jack says, 'Search me.' When I start to look under brochures and around the counter he says, 'No, really. Search me.' That grin, as big as ever, Jack holds out his arms wide. I ask him if I can please have my watch back and he says only if I can find it.

Jack still has my stopwatch, remember to get it back.

There was a team meeting this afternoon. I was late. I'm never late. It was all Owen's fault. He called-up to tell me that there was a meeting, but he said they didn't need any coffee, so I should stay where I was, minding the Tourist Office. 'Bout ten minutes later the phone rings again, but it's Jack this time, asking where I am. Everyone else is there and they're ready to start. Later, after the meeting, Jack pulled me aside and told me, 'You're part of the team, and I expect you at all team meetings unless I tell you otherwise. Clear enough?' Bloody Owen. Is this about the copier?

Speaking of Owen, why is he so exited at the thought that retcon could cause psychoses? May be time to try him on decaf again. Gwen wants to try using that resurrection gauntlet. If she'd seen what it did to Suzie, I don't think she'd have been so quick to suggest that, or quite so persistent. Jack gave-in. Strange, considering how much he hates that thing. Owen wanted to re-name it. I suggested 'Risen Mitten.' I don't think he liked it, but he couldn't come-up with anything better. We'll see if the name sticks.

Owen says 'Risen Mitten' doesn't make sense, and that it doesn't even rhyme. It rhymes when I say it.

Jack still denies that he has my stopwatch.

Jack tried the glove on Alex Arwyn, but it didn't work for him, again. He attempted to have Owen try, but Owen wasn't having any of it. He'd told me a while back that he'd be happy never to even touch that thing again. He told Jack that he'd tried it before, that we'd all tried it and only Suzie could ever get it to work. I'd never tried the glove. Jack had pulled that out of storage shortly after I started working here; back when I was even less sure of my job description than I am now. After seeing what changes happened to Suzie, I'm not so upset to have been left-out of that one.

Gwen wanted a go at the glove. She was good. Really a natural.

Strange that the glove works for some and not others. Wonder why. Does it choose somehow? Or is it just random? Why Suzie and Gwen? What do they have in common? They're really nothing alike. Maybe a tendency for obsession… and an idea that they always know best.

By the way, Jack gave me back my stopwatch. He had it in his trouser pocket (why are things always in the last place you'd ever look?) It was still warm.

When Gwen asked who had known Suzie best, who had been her friend, and no one felt they had, it started me thinking. Back in that conversation with Tosh the other day, she said she doesn't feel part of the group sometimes. Suzie didn't feel part of the group, Owens too anti-social to feel a part of any group, Gwens too new to be the group. Jack may lead the group, but just who's left to be 'in' the group? That was a bit of a ramble. I think I need some coffee.

While the others went to look through Suzie's stored possessions, I took care of Alex Arwyn and Mark Briscoe, again. I don't know which task is least distasteful. It started me thinking. When Alex Arwyn returned to life, his only thought was his mum. But he was single, wasn't he? Makes me wonder, who I'd think of, at a time like that. Being single. Alone. Maybe taking a risk with someone is better. Risking being hurt, being left behind, taking the chance, rather than face dying alone. Having no one to worry about, besides your mum.

Thinking some more about the whole… experience, when he came back, Alex was panicked. Gwen was panicked as well. By the time she brought back Mark, she was a lot calmer and knew what to expect. Mark was certainly calmer as well. Without knowing either of the men, I can't draw any concrete conclusion, but I wonder if the emotional state of the glove wearer transfers to the resurrected. That starts me to wonder what else could be transferred.

Suzie. The glove didn't work right away. Owen suggested using the knife in conjunction with the glove. As they asked me to name the knife, I guess Risen Mitten wasn't so bad after all. Am I going to be expected to name all of our artifacts from now on? How long until they get monikers like 'Steve' or 'Kenny?' By the way, it's now the 'Life Knife.' Let's see Owen claim that doesn't rhyme. I think I'm writing about this because I don't want to think about the fact that Suzie is still not dead again. I'm not sure she's really alive, but she definitely isn't dead, at least in the traditional sense. There's something about her sitting down in the interrogation room that makes me rather… uncomfortable. As such, I'm manning the Tourist Office for a while. I'd like to think that I'm not really hiding from her; I'd just prefer to occupy a different part of the hub while she's here. I shudder to think what will happen if she doesn't… if something… will she just stay here? Locked in the vaults? I can't imagine that Jack would offer her a position again. She did murder three people. What will he do with her? Never seen Jack look so afraid of something, when Suzie didn't/wouldn't die. He just stared at her, like she was just so wrong. Of course her still breathing, what with that big gaping hole in the back of her head, is enough to put anyone off.

Jack keeps pressing me to go back into the field with them. I pointed out the tight quarters in the SUV, which of course elicited a Jack comment about tight quarters followed by an offer to let me sit on his lap. Ah! For the days when Jack was at least a little bit subtle. How long can I hold out… resist his current… persistence? Do I want to resist? Can't believe I'm still considering this. Now Jack is talking about getting a bigger SUV so I won't have 'any more excuses.' Is there a more persistent man on the face of this planet?

There is one thing that allows me to resist. The way Jack sometimes looks at Gwen. I think that, if forced to choose between us… then where would I be? Much safer, leaving things as they are. If I gave in, lost myself in him, what would be left of me? If… When(?) he moved on? If Gwen, or someone else, said 'yes.' Much, much safer resisting, staying alone, without Jack.

The team is looking for a girl named Lucy MacKenzie from Suzie's Pilgrim group. Apparently she works at the Wolf Bar. Funny, the number of times the word 'wolf' seems to pop-up, more than most animal names. In fact, I think the nuclear station was originally to be called 'Blaidd Drwg.' Wonder why it was changed? Maybe the person in charge of names stopped taking drugs or something.

Jack asked me where I was earlier (apparently he'd been looking for me.) I told him, complained really, about how busy the Tourist Office had become. Two years along and he finally tells me that it isn't even a real Tourist Office, and there's no need to keep it open (just sometimes to maintain the charade.) I'd be mad, if it weren't for the way he said that word, 'charade.' How can you get mad with that American accent?

Owen dragged me down the vaults to show me something 'neat.' Turns out that at the mention of 'Torchwood,' the man they picked-up at the bar goes rather berserk for exactly ten seconds. Owen seemed to find this truly entertaining. I did notice how much the glass in the vaults needs cleaning.

While we were there, the conversation turned to Suzie's current state. Seems Owen had the same questions as I did about what's to be done with a resurrected murdering ex-team member. We agreed (surprisingly) that we couldn't decide if being locked in the vaults wouldn't be worse than dying (yet again.) This all brought the conversation around to theories on how the glove worked. I thought that maybe this was the first time that the glove had worked as intended, permanently. I asked Owen if he had any medical idea of how life could be restored or jump-started like that. He seemed to get rather exited at the term 'jump-start' and grabbed my arm and dragged me up to the conference room. After trying a few things on the computer, Owen ran the footage of Suzie's resurrection through the Philemon filter (not one of my names, to be sure.) Suzie is draining the life out of Gwen, and it isn't stopping. Jack thinks it will kill Gwen if we can't stop it. He thinks that the only way to stop it will be to kill Suzie, once (or is it twice?) and for all.

Suzie triggered a total lockdown of the hub. She engineered this whole plan before she died. Taking estate planning to the extreme? With the lockdown, did Jack think that I had triggered it? Because the last one was my fault? He seemed rather disappointed that I couldn't reverse it. I was disappointed that I couldn't reverse it, but I hadn't engineered the system. Regardless, I was determined to help. I'm glad now that I never switched to the ArchAngel Network. Aside from all the headaches I've avoided, I never would have been able to relay a signal through the tower with that system.

Jack and Owen have gone after them. I don't envy Jack. We all know what he needs to do, but no one wants to think about it. Instead we concentrate on hoping, or praying, that they get there in time to save Gwen. Did Suzie really plan all this to come back? Or was it all to kill her terminally ill father? What did he do to her? To cause such hatred? Or is she really just completely mad?

Destroying the glove was the only way to save Gwen, and to stop Suzie. It's morning now, after another sleepless night for the entire team. No one wanted to go home. I don't think anyone wanted to be alone.

All this has hit Jack hard. It's been another long 48 hour Torchwood day. While Tosh and Owen joke with Gwen (they've hardly left her side since she got back,) Jack is quiet and looks more than a little bit sad. It can't be easy, leading Torchwood. Protecting the world, protecting us. The choices he made allowed Suzie to come back and almost killed Gwen. I really don't see what other choices he could have made, other than ignoring it all and pretending the world is a safe and happy place. That doesn't work, not here, not on the rift. I told Jack that I'd take care of Suzie and all the paperwork. I can't help thinking that there is more that I could do to take his mind off of all this. But what?

Jack's been sitting alone in his office for over an hour. He has a file open on his desk, but it's been on the same page the entire time. Not even Jack reads that slowly. The choices he has to make, the actions he has to take, it looks like it's really taking a toll. Maybe I'll order some Chinese take-away. We haven't had a proper sit-down meal together in a long time. What if the conversation turns to… could it be worse for Jack? He'll need to talk about this, but not yet. Right now he needs a distraction, needs to forget.

I was finishing the paperwork on Suzie and getting her put back away when Jack came in from taking a walk up on the Plas. Somehow, it's easier to smile at Jack than at anyone else. With him it's not necessary to consciously think 'smile,' I just do. Jack is usually so quick to smile back, that big toothy grin. Today, however, it seemed such hard work for Jack to return the gesture. He looked so tired. I don't remember deciding, or even thinking it… In the end, after all the comments and suggestions, the smiles and winks, it was me. I was the one who made the suggestion. I reminded him of the offer he had made just a few days back. My heart was racing. At first he didn't seem to remember our conversation. Then he did remember. But what if it had all been just a game? What if he had never been serious? What if he had been serious? But I had to do something, to make Jack happy again. When did I decide that this was it? That this was what I wanted to do? Was willing to do? Wanted to do? But now I'm here in his office. True to his word, he's sent the others home. I'm here in his office and I'm waiting. My stopwatch is at three minutes and counting. Waiting for him, and I have to admit, I'm a little bit scared.


	11. Hamsters and Homes

I suppose I should mention last night. There I was, waiting in Jack's office, still a little unsure of my decision, still a little unsure about what was going to happen, about what Jack expected, what I expected. Never had 10 minutes gone so quickly and crawled so slowly. Finally he appeared in the doorway. Head was swimming, I felt a little bit dizzy. Wondered if he'd play some game, ask me why I was in his office. Figured my best approach was the one that had served me so well in recent months, eye contact and smile. Jack smiled back. That smile. I don't know how to even begin to describe it. It was different, stunning, and one I'd never seen before. I think now, that maybe it's one reserved just for me. I hope it is, it's one thing I wouldn't want to share. So there we were in his office, smiling at each other. A full minute must have passed like that before Jack finally says, 'So.' I smile again, which is hard because I hadn't stopped smiling from before. I wonder if I looked as nervous as I felt. I guess it's obvious that I'm not saying anything, 'cause he continued, 'So… finally got you alone, Ianto Jones.' Silly as it is, I love the way he says my name like that, like one word, Iantojones. He'd just shifted his weight, like he's going to move further into the room when… the rift monitor starts beeping. He turned and looked at it, then turned back to me, 'So…' The monitor started the high alert beep. 'So…' Jack took a step towards me and the monitor switched to a fairly piercing scream. Jack took another step and tried again. 'So…' He was just out of reach. "So, you'd better get that?" I guessed. 'Don't want to.' He replied. "But you'd better. Could be the end of the word." 'Could be,' and then he kissed me, as they say in the novels, long and hard. A very long time, holding my head with both hands, as the siren screamed and the world lay on the brink of annihilation. In the end, I had to pull away, but only for my lung's ridiculous need for oxygen. As I stood there, staring into his eyes, completely out of breath, I didn't care if the world had ended. Don't think I'd have noticed. 'I…' he started. "Have to go. I know. Go save the world." I fetched his coat for him and helped him into it. As my hand traveled down his sleeve, smoothing where it had bunched-up, Jack reached back and caught my hand in his. 'Come with me.' He said without even turning back to look at me, he just pulled lightly on my hand. I told him I couldn't. He just said it again, 'Come with me… I need you.' So we went to save the world, together.

As it turns out, the world needed saving from a handful of creatures who looked like nothing else more than small blue hamsters. They were all wearing spacesuits, so we're assuming sentience. For now, they're all in a cell in the vaults fighting over the exercise wheel. Don't appear much of a threat, but one never knows. Rather pleasant, chasing them around in the street, with Jack. Jack. When we had the last one caught and in a box, we literally fell down laughing. It was the most enjoyable time I've spent… in as long as I can remember. We returned to the hub with our alien menace, and placed them in the vaults. By that time it was quite late and Jack walked me out. When we got to the Tourist Office, we were still laughing, making hamster jokes and the like. Then, it was as if someone had thrown a switch, we both stopped and stared at each other. Without all the banter, the flirting and the thinking, the planning, this is how it was, how it should be. We were in each other's arms before either of us knew it. While I will occasionally kiss and tell, there are other things that a gentleman should not tell, even to his diary. Suffice it to say, I have a newfound appreciation for the Tourist Office… and Jack.

* * *

Still trying to narrow-down the new-car choices. Jack thinks I should get a Lamborghini. I told him I'd need an increase in salary first (see, I can learn. No mention to Jack about giving me a 'raise.') In any case, I think I really like the Audi, in black. It's classic. And the seats are designed such that they don't crush the back of my suit when I sit in them. Very important, that. Speaking of seats, Jack says that Gwen left something sticky on the driver's seat of the SUV the other day. He didn't want me to clean it though, says he'll make her drive until she takes care of it. Before they all wanted to drive, now no one does.

Eugene Jones (no relation) was killed by a hit and run driver today. He was the person Gwen felt had been stalking her. I'd researched him (not even worth calling it vetting) a while back and he was harmless. Jack, Gwen and Tosh have gone to the scene to make sure there isn't anything out of the ordinary.

I've been able to research Suzie's background and family a bit. While she definitely was quite mad, it seems she may have been justified in her feelings towards her father. There aren't any concrete records (lot of files seem to have gone missing) but it seems there was quite a deal of proof that her father was responsible for the death of her mother. More proof than should have been needed for a conviction, but he had never even been arrested, let alone brought to trial. To top it all off, he then gave-up Suzie to the care of a group home. I looked-up the facility in which she was left. It has the highest rate of runaways, suicide and accidental death in all of Wales. Most of the records seem questionable. There must be something that can be done.

I went with Gwen and Owen to tell Mrs. Jones about Eugene. In any case, it was Owen's idea that I go along.(!?) As I was making coffee I could hear them a level below. When Jack told Owen to take Gwen to the Jones', Owen said that I should go too. I nearly dropped the mugs. Jack must have given him that look, because Owen went on about how I needed to 'get back on the horse,' that Torchwood needed another field agent, and that I had potential. All sounded ridiculous to me. In the end, Jack agreed. I'm not quite sure why we went at all, let alone three of us. It wasn't actually fieldwork, so I didn't mind, it's just hard to see that poor woman after the loss of her eldest.

It was sad, the things that Eugene had on display in his room. Things he clearly believed were alien in origin. All in all I think it was a waste of time going through his room. I do think I discovered why Owen wanted me along on the trip. It felt decidedly icy in the SUV. It was either the relationship between Owen and Gwen, or it was the air conditioning, something in that car was giving me a chill.

Don't think I'll need to get the air conditioning checked after all. Owen and Gwen were going at it again. He was even going to make her do the autopsy on Eugene because of their tif. Not quite so warm anymore, they quarrel most of the time they're together.

Appears Eugene was the victim of a drunk driver. A very drunk driver. The man said he thought he'd be okay, so he drove on. Sorry, you hit a person, they're lying in the road, what makes you think they'll be okay? The blood? Lack of movement? Okay!

* * *

Went down to the vaults to check on the blue hamsters. Amazing that the exercise wheel is still a big hit. While I was watching them, Jack came down to check on them as well. Now I have a new regard for the vaults, and for Jack.

Someone stole my apple. Now I'm hungry.

Looked into Suzie's old children's home a bit more. Seems that some of the deaths were really quite inexplicable, and strange. Some of the runaways seem odd as well. Looked at the rift records and there may be a correlation. There seems to be a negative spike in conjunction with the usual activity, but only sometimes. I'm wondering if there is a rift suction, an equal-and-opposite-reaction thing going on. Given the number of missing persons in the area that can't be attributed to weevils, cannibals, and the like, it makes sense. Don't know, it might be completely unrelated. Or not. In any case, I've worked-up a preliminary report to present the case to Jack. Hope it's intriguing enough to investigate. I really have the feeling that there is more going on there than a bunch of random accidents. Don't know if it's complete enough, its only 12 pages, but I've given it to Jack.

Owen denies stealing my apple. I'm still hungry.

We've been working through some of the unidentified artifacts in storage. Not much progress. Gwen still has concerns about Eugene. She's sure there's more to his death than just an accident. Could be she just feels a bit guilty about ignoring him while he was alive?

Jack says that the negative rift spike is something Torchwood investigated years back and that it's just a background radioactivity counter-reaction to the prevailing weather patterns. Is it just me, or is that Jack-speak for 'don't ask'? Nothing to be worried about then. Does this mean he's still considering investigating the home?

I found the biological experiment mug again, this time with an apple core in it.

Gwen and I had a talk about Eugene. She feels like he's still following her, still trying to get her attention. She didn't think it was guilt over having ignored him, she said it's like a real physical presence. I asked her what Owen thought, if he'd felt anything. She tried to act surprised, 'Why would I ask Owen? I… We…' It's not like it's a secret or anything… is it? When she realized that she wasn't going to convince me that they weren't together, she just sighed. She talked at me for a full five minutes about how it was a mistake, she should stop, that she loves Rhys, that she never knew how it started, and always coming back to how it should stop. In the end, out of breath, Gwen asked me what she should do. "Sounds like you know the answer to that already." I told her. She actually seemed to think that was good advice. (?!) She smiled and kissed me on the cheek. "Watch it now," I told her. "That's exactly how this sort of thing gets started."

Jack has agreed to look into the children's home, but only if I go with him. So what is it going to be this time? Alien? Or simply inhuman? Don't really know which is worse. Still, can't leave those kids to fend for themselves, against whatever it is.

* * *

Last night Jack and I went to the Wilkinson Home for Children. It all looked so… respectable, normal, at least from the outside. Inside, things were neat and tidy, and quiet. There were currently supposed to be 30 residents aged 5 to 17. How could it be that tidy and that quiet? We only saw a handful of kids, but they lurked in the shadows, never making eye-contact, never saying a word. Cowering. The administrators were polite and proper, and very cold. Very cold and very wrong. By the time we were back in the parking lot, I knew we had to do something. Intervene. Jack said we didn't have anything to go on. I told him I'd find something. He asked what if there wasn't anything to find. I told him I'd find something.

Jack's been trying to get a hold of Gwen all day, to see if she had heard anything about the children's home while she was with the police. She hasn't returned any of his calls.

* * *

I've been working on the Wilkinson case all day. About mid-day Jack sent Tosh to help. We found files, information. Between us, we found whatever would be necessary. Jack made me take a break about 7p.m. after everyone had gone home for the weekend. He said that I'm getting too involved. I told him I'm not letting it go, that nothing he could say would stop me.

* * *

It's the first Saturday since I've been here that I haven't opened the Tourist Office.

Jack and I went back to Wilkinson tonight, but not through the front door. The cellar wasn't nearly so respectable as the front entryway. I'm still not sure what they were, but the sound they made when Jack shot them was anything but human. Jack says we'll probably never know what they were doing, or what happened to the rest of their victims, but at least we made sure that it wouldn't happen to any more of these kids.

* * *

Spent all Sunday at Wilkinson, trying to sort through the kids' histories, and find relatives willing to take them in. Some of them wouldn't (couldn't?) tell me their names. A few wouldn't say a single word. I made them cheese toasties and tea. By early evening they were all camped-out at my feet in the administration office. There's one little red-headed girl that won't let go of my hand, not even when Jack showed-up. When he came in, most of them scattered and hid (can't say as I blame them, when I first met him I felt quite the same inclination.) Jack says that Gwen has asked that we all attend Eugene's wake tomorrow. He's already told her that I'm busy, but the rest of the team will go, unless something else comes up, anything else comes-up, anything at all. He also said that if it's okay with me, he'd bring everyone by afterwards to help with the kids. Jack said he had planned on staying with me here, but as I seemed to have built a rapport with the kids, he went back to the hub. The kids are all back now and sleeping on the floor around me. Its early Monday morning now, should be light in a couple of hours. Don't know if it's worth trying to sleep at this point.

Did actually get about two hours sleep last night. One of the younger kids woke-up crying, so I held him until he calmed down again. By then everyone else was awake too. Breakfast for 23 kids. Made the mistake of asking what everyone wanted. Kids that wouldn't say a word yesterday won't stop talking today. Some of the residents are close to old enough to move-out on their own, close, but not quite. They've been helping with the younger ones.

The records are in such a state I really don't know how we'll find where everyone belongs.

The team showed-up about noon looking rather stunned. Apparently Eugene made an appearance at his own wake. I told Jack that Suzie had to be wrong. There has to be more after death, more than just darkness. Jack said that it was residual energy, a memory stored in the Dogon 6th Eye. How does a memory manifest an exact likeness of the departed? Strong enough to push Gwen out of the path of a speeding car? Jack just refuses to acknowledge the presence of Heaven or the possibility of a 'white-light.' Just because Suzie saw only black, maybe the way she lived her life and those three murders had something to do with that. Don't know why Jack is so set on such a negative view of the afterlife.

In any case, I now have a moving mantle of kids wherever I go. The teens follow me and the younger ones hang off my coat tails quite literally. They didn't even scatter when the team showed-up. Tosh kept doing that thing where she tries to cover her mouth so no one can see her laughing. Can't imagine how we look. With some luck we can find some good news for these kids.

Another long day, but some success. We've contacted the families of six already. All five families in the Cardiff area (turns out that two of the kids were siblings and didn't even know it.) The records we've uncovered or reconstructed show that most of the kids weren't orphaned at all, or that they have one parent still living. These… things took most of the kids from hospital, after accidents, telling the families that their children had died. Just can't imagine. The pain, the loss, then months or years later…

* * *

Rather surprising, Owen has become somewhat attached to Rhys (one of our kids, not Gwen's boyfriend.) Rather more surprising, Rhys quite likes Owen as well. They are getting along quite well and sit playing some trading card game for hours on end. Maybe it isn't so surprising, Rhys is six, he and Owen are at about the same age, emotionally.

* * *

Lots more success. It's only been a few days and we only have seven kids left, my little red-head among them. It's a little harder now as these appear to be those who weren't stolen, but those who actually don't have families living. Two of them are about 17. How do I find homes for them? It's been a couple of months now and I still haven't even found an acceptable home for Moses the cat. The longer I'm with them, the harder it is to say goodbye.

Jack has sent me home and says he won't let me back until I shave and get at least five hours sleep. While I've been able to shower and Tosh had stopped at my place and brought me some clean clothes, I probably do look a bit of a mess.

* * *

Rhys has a new home. For a while it looked like it might not happen after-all. Owen insisted on a deep background check on the family, then deep wasn't deep enough to satisfy his apprehension. When it was promised that Owen could have visitation rights, he finally gave his consent. We're down to three.

Jack says I need to find a home for my little red-headed girl and get back to the hub. I considered adopting her myself, but I couldn't do that to her, not while I'm with Torchwood. I thought about quitting, but I can't. What we do is too important. If we hadn't been there, these kids would still be in the hands of those creatures. How many would be dead by now? I can't quit, not even for her. I just have to find her a home, a perfect home, a safe home… and a name. She still doesn't have one. I tried suggesting some, but she says she wants to be called Ianto.

* * *

My red-head finally has a name. She said she wouldn't take any name but mine (very strong-willed for a 7-year-old!) I suggested that since my last name was Jones, she might be willing to try Joan on for size. She likes it. Just in time… I've scheduled a meeting for her with a family from Abergavenney. I've interviewed them five times now. They've passed a background check that makes Owen's look like nothing. Plus, they live close enough if she ever needs me, but far enough from the rift.

* * *

Joan is gone now. She left 45 minutes ago for her new home. She now has a Mum and Dad, an older brother and a younger sister. I've also given her a cell phone pre-programmed with my numbers at home and the hub and mobile, as well as Jack's cell. It's so quiet now.

Only two left, Alesha and Jade, both 17. Jack's said we can move them into a Torchwood safe house in the city and close this place down now.

* * *

Everyone is home and settled now. The children's home is closed. It's so unreal, now that it's all done. I'm back at the hub, but everyone has gone home except Jack and me. He was telling me about a big slug they battled while I was occupied with the kids. He's gone to find a picture he'd taken of it. I really don't need to see a picture of a giant garden pest. What I do need is for Jack to come back and sit next to me here on the couch. I need him to hold me. I need to feel his touch, to feel other than alone. I need him to make me feel… well, just to feel. It's been so long since we've been alone together.


	12. Past and Future

I'm beginning to think that Jack might be just a little bit psychic. Last night he came back without the slug picture, but not empty-handed. A glass of single-malt Scotch in each hand, his hair just a little tousled, that small smirk on his lips and a glint in his eyes, I've never seen him look more attractive. Also beginning to think that Jack plans on systematically developing my appreciation for every room in the hub.

Weevil hunting with Jack tonight!

* * *

Only one weevil last night, but I don't think either of us were really looking that hard.

Tosh has put up some tinsel and has started talking about a Christmas gift exchange again. To quote the immortal Douglas Adams, "Oh no, not again."

My new car is ready to be picked-up. Jack said I could take a long lunch today to go and get it. Said that there aren't any car dealers open late enough for me to pick it up on the way home. He seems to think that I work too many hours. He should talk.

Jack went with me to get the car. The dealer tried to say there was an additional service charge. Jack had a quiet word with the man. The charge has been waived. Can't decide how to feel about that. Nice that Jack wanted to stand-up for me, not so nice that he felt the need to. Went for a little test-drive with Jack and the Audi. He said it was nice, but a little underpowered, that it wouldn't be much good in a chase. I headed out of town and opened it up. Jack said he took it back, great car. Very long lunch.

The whole thing with Eugene and his Dogon 6th eye has made me realize we need to monitor EBay a little more closely. Tosh says she can whip-up a monitoring program quite easily; I just need to think of some key words to use in the search. (Alien –Sigourney?)

* * *

All this time, Jack really had no idea that I would ever consider joining their basketball games, let alone want to. We were in the middle of the hub, discussing the quarterly reports. Jack was rolling the ball around with his foot. He mentioned Owen's jump shot in passing, not really sure why. Must've made a face or something, 'cause Jack asked what was wrong. When it was clear he wouldn't let it go, I admitted that I'd always felt a bit left out. He said that he, they all really, had always just assumed I wasn't interested. They never meant to exclude me. I picked-up the ball and asked him since when did an apparent lack of interest from anyone ever stop him. I think he conceded that point. In any case, I told him that I'm a man of many skills, not to be underestimated. (He said he knew.) I couldn't help it, as I started to walk away I tossed the ball over my shoulder and said, "Nothing but net." And it was! I couldn't have made that shot for a million pounds, but there in the middle of the hub with Jack watching! A cheer went up from the conference room. I hadn't noticed, but the entire team had been standing there watching as well. It was the perfect start to the day. Having said that, I wonder what catastrophe will befall me to make-up for it. Come whatever may, it was worth those few seconds.

Looking again at the reports, there are just too many missing persons in the Cardiff area. Don't really see another explanation other than the rift. I know Jack implied that I should drop it, that it's already been checked and found unrelated, but can't help but think it's connected to those negative rift spikes. Maybe whoever checked it out before missed something. But why should I be able to figure out something that all of Torchwood 3 before me couldn't? They're probably right and it's nothing after all. Owen just walked past and told me I'm a basketball god and that he's picking me for his team.

Glad I didn't give-up on the missing persons/negative spike connection, 'cause I've found it. I spent the afternoon cross-referencing, and all but 12.3 of the reported missing correspond to a negative spike. That can't be a coincidence. This evening I should be able to start on a preliminary report for Jack.

* * *

Jake over at the airport just called. Says a flight's coming in that we might be interested in. Jack's taken Owen and Gwen to check on it.

Well, the flight Jake called about was interesting after all. Plane with three people claiming it's 1953. I was in the file room when they were brought in, but Jack introduced them as they were leaving for the safe-house. The younger girl, Emma, asked me what I do for the team. I still don't really know how to answer that. Didn't have to, Jack stepped in with, 'Ianto does just about everything for the team… and he does a lot for me as well.' The older one, Diane, was the only one who seemed to guess what Jack meant. Right now what I'm doing for the team is going down to help Tosh put-up the official Torchwood Christmas tree.

I should have realized. In all the time that Torchwood has been here, sitting on top of the rift, no way I could have been the first to see the connection. While Tosh has only recently fine-tuned the rift monitor close enough to clearly show the negative dip, someone had to have noticed before now. In the files there are indicators that they did. Torchwood has known that the rift takes people. Does Jack know? He must, but he couldn't. If he knew, we'd be doing something about it. Now I'm not sure what to do. I think I've discovered something I'm not meant to know.

Jack's asked that I work-up new identities and documents for our guests from '53. He wants new names for each. I still don't see why, new documents with new birthdates would do. They've got enough to adjust to, new clothes, new technology, new music, even money has changed since they stepped onto that plane. It's a different world; they shouldn't have to be different people. Jack was insistent, though. When he's in one of these moods, "Why?" isn't the best question to ask him. I almost gave them all the last name of Jones, though. Just to be a bit impertinent. Even played with making them Joe, Jo and Josie Jones. Then I thought better not.

Now Jack tells me they'll be keeping their names after all. Is he getting back at me for something?

Helped Tosh put garland and lights up the staircase. She's not giving-up on the gift exchange. I told her I would, if Owen does. Figured he'd be the last to give in. Figured wrong. Tosh says Owen's already said yes. Brilliant.

* * *

Jack asked me to show Emma, Diane and John how to go shopping later this afternoon. Tried to flatter me, saying I'm the best at the shops and all. Afternoon shopping, near Christmas, is he insane?

Tosh called-up. Wants me to come down so we can draw names for the gift exchange. Why is there never a weevil attack when you need one?

Christmas time at Torchwood again. After weeks of pestering for it, Tosh is upset over the gift exchange. Apparently she was hoping to draw Owen's name, because now she doesn't want to participate. I know she didn't draw Owen, because lucky me, I did. Maybe I'll get him a pack of disposable coffee cups. (Although I haven't seen the biological experiment mug in a few days, Owen seems distracted.)

The shops weren't as crowded as I feared they'd be. Emma had a blast. She spent all of her allowance and she owes me a fiver. Less than 48 hours in the 21st century and she's already in debt. I think she'll fit in just fine. Diane was fascinated by the technology, but worries that she's too far out of touch. It'll be harder for her, but she should be okay. John… not so sure. He seems a bit too judgmental to adapt. The look on his face when he saw that magazine… (hey… an idea what to get Owen for Christmas!) It's gonna be harder for John, a little too set in his ways. Dropped him off at Millennium Stadium. Maybe we could get him tickets to a match, something to look forward to. I'll talk to Jack. I took the ladies back to the safe house. Showed them the microwave and television remote. Not sure they quite understood, but on the way out I ran into Jade and Alesha. We had a good long chat on the front steps and I asked them to keep an eye on the ladies. Jade kept teasing me about the Audi, wants to go for a drive. Alesha says they're taking me out drinking on Christmas if I don't already have plans. She reminded me for what must've been the tenth time, that they've both turned 18.

Diane called, asking about tea bags. I told her not to be seduced. Tea bags are the bane of modern society. Just you watch, they will be the downfall of modern man. Owen came by and wanted to talk to her, so I turned her over to him and went back down to the file room.

* * *

Last night John had a bit of a fight with Emma. The girls gave me a call to check that she's okay. Apparently she went home with Gwen. Diane had been picked-up by Owen last night and hadn't come home either. Asked if the girls were okay in the house with John. Jade assured me that he wouldn't bother them. She told me, 'He'd yelled at Alesha for giving Emma a beer, and grabbed her arm. Alesha yelled back and did that defensive thing you showed us last week. She knocked him on his ass!... Sorry, Ianto… knocked him on his butt. He won't be telling us what to do again.' I've never been so proud of my girls.

Owen just called and asked about my skin care regimen. For some reason he was a little defensive of the number of products he uses. Did he draw my name for the exchange? Then again, he went on to ask how you can guess a woman's size without asking her. I really hope he didn't draw my name.

Tosh was so upset that she didn't draw Owen; I agreed to swap with her, sight unseen. What could be more problematic than finding a gift for Owen? Finding one for Jack. Brilliant. I really need to know if the exchange will be public or private.

I'm sure now that the rift takes people. Stranger yet, I've found coding in the files, coding for people who were taken, but returned. Sometimes, somehow, they come back. Haven't broken the entire coding yet, and I'm not sure I would, or should, even try. One question I keep coming back to… where are they now? There are pictures; most of those returned couldn't integrate back, not without questions (or lots of running and screaming.) They're not in the vaults, but they must be somewhere.

Jack and Gwen were whispering in the hallway. Gwen up against the wall, Jack was leaning in towards her with one arm on the wall. Sure I heard my name in the middle of it. As I got nearer they both stood up and started talking loudly of the rift and weevils. They both smiled at me as I passed. I smile, but no eye contact. Am I jealous? Or self-conscious?

Owen asked me where someone (not him) could take someone (no one I know) on a romantic evening, something different. I suggested under the stars, alone, with a view. Oh, and music… for dancing. Slow dancing. Owen's been so different lately. He seems happy for a change. Is it Gwen? Did they work-out whatever they were fighting over? But again, Gwen hasn't been around much lately. Tosh? Wouldn't that be brilliant? He's drawn her name and he's planning to take her out… no, it's not Tosh, and not even Gwen. It's Diane. The way he sits up at the mention of her name… Poor Tosh, she's been overlooked again. And she's so excited about the gift exchange with him. She was telling me some of the ideas she's been considering for a while, ideas she can't afford.

I went and talked with Jeffrey at City Hall. (Haven't seen him since the wedding. He says Kathy's doing well and so's the baby. She's going back to reporting after New Year's.) We found records of the property ownership of Flat Holm Island. Torchwood ownership. Well, technically H.C. Clements owns it. Same thing.

I should have stopped, but I didn't. I needed to know what Jack knew. So I went. There are actually regular boat tours that go to Flat Holm Island. The tour doesn't include the underground bunker. My Torchwood scan card got me in. I understand now, why they're there. They're not hidden away so much as kept safe. Each one of them had their life stolen by the rift and there isn't a thing we can do. I sat in the lighthouse and cried until the last tour boat came.

Is there a little white pill in my future? Jack's going to retcon me for this, for sure. How much is he going to take? Just this, these few days? Or am I to wake-up back in London? I can't loose this. I can't go back.

* * *

I've finished the report. I've included details on the rift spikes, the missing persons, the island, everything I've discovered, every step I took. Recon it's just cause for retcon, or worse. But I have to tell him. I won't hide it. I won't pretend I don't know. I'm through hiding things, especially from him. Did that once before and it nearly killed me (in more ways than one.) I've left the report on Jack's desk and have spent the past hour praying he doesn't retcon me.

Everyone else has gone for the night. As they left through the Tourist Office, no one said anything about it or stopped longer than usual. No one hugged me goodbye. Whatever Jack is planning, he's keeping it to himself. I've ordered pizza. When it's delivered, it'll be my reason for going down and seeing if I'll still have a job, if I'll still have my memory. And Jack.

The pizza arrived. Still can't bring myself to exchange more than the most basic civilities with the delivery girl, not after Annie. No use putting it off. Cold pizza won't help.

* * *

Last night I took the pizza down to the hub. Jack was nowhere to be seen, neither was my report. Brief rush of worry. (But at least he wasn't in the armory.) So there I stood at the entrance to the hub, pizza box in hand. Still don't know where he came from, but suddenly he was behind me asking, 'Looking for me?' I showed him the pizza and he said, 'Perfect. In my office?' We sat. We ate pizza. Jack talked. I waited. Started to think that maybe he hadn't seen my report yet, that he certainly hadn't read it. Then he said, out of the blue, that he'd always thought Flat Holm was one word, but he'd checked on it and that of course I was right. It took a minute before I could swallow the bit of pizza and ask, "So you've read it then?" Jack said yes and took a bite of pizza large enough to choke a horse. I waited. Without swallowing, he said, 'I thought I'd told you it was just a background radioactivity counter-reaction to the prevailing weather patterns.' Maintain eye contact, "Something like that." He finally swallowed, 'You didn't let it go.' I told him, "No, I didn't." 'Didn't like my background radiation thingy? Not impressive enough?' Eye contact and smile. "It was more the prevailing weather patterns Sir, that did it in." I waited for the end to come, but instead Jack just laughed. Instead, Jack was impressed with my investigation and my report. Instead, he asked me what I thought of the whole situation. I asked if Tosh had been able to do anything about predicting the negative spikes. Jack said Tosh didn't know about any of it, nor did Owen or Gwen. He said that since he had started the refuge, only Suzie had ever questioned the missing persons/rift connection and even she hadn't been able to figure it all out, let alone find the hospital. I asked him outright if he was going to retcon me. He looked at me with that mock-seriousness and asked, 'Why? Do you want me to?' I said that I fully realized his background radiation 'thingy' meant to drop it, but I hadn't. Jack told me that I'd read him right, he did mean to drop it. Then he said that if he didn't want inquisitive, intelligent staff, he just wouldn't hire them in the first place. But in the future, if he really wants me to 'drop it' he'd be sure to make it clear. Then he asked if I wanted to go out for some dessert.

Now it's the morning of the 23rd and Gwen wants me to do something for the occupants of the vaults. Something for Christmas. Somehow I get the feeling that weevils don't celebrate the season. Maybe they'd like some eggnog.

All the cars in the parking lot and it's my new car he has to take. What did he do, hunt out the new car smell? He'd better not scratch it! Jack's run a tracer on the Audi and has gone to check on John, and get my car back. By the way, when did Jack lo-jack me?

Have had to go and remove all the tinsel Gwen put up in the vaults, it was driving the weevils mad. The little blue hamsters had gotten hold of a piece of it and were trying to eat it. I'm not sure, but I think they're trying to communicate with me (the hamsters, not the weevils.)

* * *

Christmas Eve and Jack's so quiet. John killed himself last night and Jack couldn't stop it. I think maybe Jack wouldn't stop it. When he's ready, I'll be there to listen.

Gift exchange. Owen's mad that he had to come in today without an alien threat to eradicate. Doesn't want to talk about it. Things with Diane must be going badly. He just stomps around saying 'Merry friggin Christmas.' Tosh is… no other word for it… giddy. She's told me what Jack and Gwen were whispering about in the hallway the other day. Jack had drawn Tosh's name in the exchange and was campaigning to switch with Gwen's draw. I asked her why, who had Gwen drawn? 'You, silly! Jack wanted your name but Gwen had already bought your gift. He wouldn't give up. Offered her three days off if she'd switch! I think maybe he likes you, Ianto. Want to borrow my mistletoe?' I told her I'd think about it. I'm just mixing-up the eggnog before we open gifts.

Jack's still a little down, but he's putting-on a false front and no one else seems to have noticed. He's downed quite a bit of the eggnog and wanted to be first to open his gift. Flooded with regret at an impulse purchase (fueled by Emma's enthusiastic urging at the shops,) I handed Jack the package. At least it was wrapped nicely. But really, who would want a set of braces with little Welsh dragons all over them? Apparently Jack. He switched into them straight away and gave me a hug that nearly suffocated me. And I've still got his real gift, the one for the not-so-public exchange. Seems like Jack had the same idea. He's given me a lovely silk tie, but under the tie, in the bottom of the box is a note saying that there's more, but for later, in private. Tosh is so sweet. Why can't she find someone…nice, and just give up on Owen? He's such an insensitive lout. After all the name-trading, Owen and Tosh ended-up with each other's names. Tosh bought him a set of antique medical books he's been talking about as long as I've known him. They must've cost her a fortune, well more than she could afford. Owen got her… nothing. Said he'd forgotten. I knew he would. For a fortnight no one's existed for Owen but Diane and now she's apparently gone. I knew Owen would forget whoever he had in the exchange. As I had Jack's name, it had to be me or Gwen or Tosh. Couldn't stand the thought of one of them left disappointed, so I brought a spare gift. Handed it to Owen, saying, "Yup, forgot it on the counter in the Tourist Office. Brought it down for you." Owen actually said, 'Thanks, mate.' And gave it to Tosh. She read the tag and smiled. Owen looked at me as if to say 'What's it say?' I just smiled. She opened it and did what can only be described as a little happy-dance and hugged Owen. I still haven't told him what he got her. Suppose I should before Tosh figures out that he really had forgotten. Maybe it was the wrong thing. Maybe it would be better to let her be disappointed in him, but I couldn't stand the thought of Tosh broken-hearted for Christmas. Anyway, that pretty-well was the end of the exchange. After all the switching and swapping, Gwen had her own name. But she had the rest of the weekend off and left, wishing everyone a Merry Christmas. She went home to spend Christmas with Rhys and Emma. As Owen was heading off (to where, he wouldn't say) he at least offered Tosh a ride to her train (Christmas with her family) and that left Jack and I alone again. He's down checking on the vault occupants. He must plan on being alone. I want to ask him to spend Christmas with me, but figure he'll just say no.

* * *

Christmas day

Last night Jack didn't say no. In fact, he asked me to spend Christmas with him, before I had the chance (worked-up the nerve) to ask him. He really actually looked disappointed when I said that I couldn't stay in the hub, that I already had plans. Jack pouts. Rather adorable. Then I think he got a little jealous, started asking about my 'plans.' Who they were with and the like. 'Bout half a second, I thought about teasing, saying I was spending Christmas with a couple of 18 year-olds, but I couldn't do it. Instead, I told him that Jade and Alesha had never had a proper family Christmas with a tree and gifts and dinner and all. I was seeing to it that this year, they would. I also said that I was hoping I could talk him into coming too. Didn't take much talking. Now it's about 6 in the morning and the tea is brewing. Jack's making loud noises, hoping that the girls will wake-up and come down. He can be such a little boy. He wants to get started opening presents.

Jade and Alesha never got around to getting hammered, like they'd planned. I was a bit worried that things would get a bit dicey, us all sitting around all day, two young girls, Jack and myself. I'd planned it out, and then prayed it would all go to plan. Stockings and presents for everyone (really glad Jack said yes, don't know what I'd have done with his, otherwise.) Jade and Alesha had even gotten me gifts (almost cried- Jade knitted me a vest!) We all sat around and talked, about everything and anything. Jack was as charming as usual. When it came time to cook, we all moved into the kitchen and kept the conversation going, all day. We even played Scrabble and no one complained. Its usually just the choir and carols and the like, but when I suggested we go to Christmas services, I expected moans, excuses and rolling of the eyes (and a similar response from the girls.) Instead, everyone was up for it. I suspect that Jack just went along for my benefit (all his talk of the randomness of existence and all.) Still, everyone really seemed to have a good time, especially Jack. That man can sing. No, really! He was smiling and humming "God Rest Ye, Merry Gentlemen" and he held my hand on the way back to the car.

Later, when the girls headed off to bed, Jack and I were left alone with the Christmas tree lights. There we exchanged the gifts we'd brought each other, the ones not for public exchange. My heart raced, what if he didn't like it? I'd finally settled on the gold chain and fob for his pocket watch from that antique store in the arcade, A Stitch in Time. I'd gone back and the creepy little man wasn't there this time, so I bought it. What if Jack didn't like it as much as the dragon braces? But he did like it. He loved it. He kissed me so hard I think he may have bruised my lips (not that I'm complaining!) I'll admit I was a little concerned at the idea of a present Jack felt best reserved for private exchange. When Jack brought a small box with a bright gold bow, from its hiding place in the branches of the tree, I had steeled myself, counted myself ready for anything. For what was inside, I wasn't ready. It was quite simply the most beautiful, classic gold wristwatch. I caught myself just staring at it before I looked at Jack. He was watching me, a slightly nervous tilt to his smile, 'Like it?' I could only nod. 'Turn it over.' There, inscribed on the back were words that made my heart leap:

Ianto- You make me want to be worthy of you


	13. Weevils and Wounds

The EBay monitoring program is up and running. I've asked Tosh if she can add a feature to cross-check the bidders. She said she's got other work to do, but she'll see if she can get around to it eventually, maybe by New Year's.

Tosh asked when tea would be ready this afternoon. I told her I've got other work to do, but I'll see if I can get around to it eventually, maybe by New Year's. She kicked me in the shin.

Tosh has spent the rest of the day apologizing for kicking my shin. I showed her the bruise. She showed me the updated EBay program.

* * *

The EBay program has kicked-out a list of bidders with an interest in aliens. There are a lot who just seem to bid on anything, but two that could prove more troublesome. They're the ones that seem to have the funding. More research may be warranted. One is even registered here in Cardiff. The other is a guy in Utah, little harder to check-out. Maybe Jack would spring for a vacation… I mean a fact-finding mission… to the U.S.

Tosh backed me into a corner about the Christmas present. She was heading down to the Archives overloaded with boxes, a file folder in her mouth. I offered to help and she nodded. I took the file folder and headed for the stairs. Three steps before: 'Ianto!' I told her I was kidding, put the folder back in her mouth and took the boxes from her. She followed me into the Archives and as I filed the boxes for her, she put her hand on my arm and said, 'I wanted to thank you.' I told her it wasn't a problem, that I was already headed this way. She said, 'No. For the Christmas gift.' I told her it was from Owen. She just smiled and said, 'Ianto… We've known each other too long. Besides, if you'd really wanted to convince me it was from Owen, it should have been something he could have picked-up from the only shop open on his way here. Jar of jellied eels or something.' I told her that it would have been from Owen, if he weren't such a self-absorbed twat. She laughed at that, 'That's our Owen. But thanks, I do love it.' She kissed me on the cheek and ran back up the stairs. Why can't Owen see what he's missing?

* * *

Weevil sightings seem to be on the rise again. Comparing it with rift activity, these don't appear to be new weevils, but ones who have been here some time. Can't think what's making them more active.

* * *

Owen called me 'Tea-boy' for the first time in months. Thought he'd been too nice lately. Later he stormed out of the hub and didn't come back.

Jack asked if I had plans Friday night. He said it with that slightly leering smirk, so I'm not sure exactly what he has in mind. Is this a date?

Just realized Friday night is New Year's Eve!

* * *

Does the weevil activity have anything to do with cycles of the moon or tides or something? It seems like every month there's a surge in their movements.

Talked with Jack about the monthly weevil movement idea. He went on for 5 minutes about a girl he used to know who acted a lot like a weevil, quite regularly, once a month. Didn't really need to know that.

* * *

Jack said he'd thought some more about my weevil-cycle theory. That he'd like one of my reports on it when I had a chance. When I told him I'd get right on it, he said no. Said that I should go home and get ready for tonight. Maybe it really is a date?!

* * *

I spent New Years Eve with Jack. Let me describe my imagined, perfect New Year's date and we can compare… He makes me go home early, ostensibly so we can change, get ready, but really just so he can pick me up at home, make an entrance. It's a formal occasion, calling for formal attire, so tuxedos all around. Dinner, drinks and dancing under the stars. Getting close to midnight, he grabs our coats and we make a run for it. The countdown isn't in a packed ballroom with confetti and crowds and strangers kissing you. The countdown is private, just the two of us, with a view of the bay and the fireworks, and Jack kissing me. So how did we spend New Years? How else? Weevil hunting. What was I thinking? That was much more fun. Glad I didn't wear the tux.

Jack just told me that he really hadn't intended to take me weevil hunting last night. He'd been heading out the door when the alerts came in. Everyone had gone for the night and it was either call someone back in, or take care of it himself. So he just picked me up on the way. No need to call the team and ruin everyone's night off. I told him that I understood and went to make coffee.

* * *

Tosh asked me how I spent New Years. I told her with Jack. 'Ohhhhhh??' She said, ever the romantic. Yes, Weevil hunting with Jack. 'Oh… I didn't have a date either. Sad, aren't we?' Aren't we just?

Had an idea, but don't know if it's good or not. Still want to get Jade and Alesha out of the Torchwood safe-house and into something nice, something permanent. Don't know how they've stood looking at that wallpaper for this long. Anyway, I was thinking, the number of people we come across, victims of aliens and such, some of them leave property. Some of them don't have families, don't leave a will. Pretty sure we could do it, not sure if we should. It's like stealing, but from whom? And Alesha and Jade, they had their families stolen from them, didn't they? Talk to Jack about it, see what he thinks.

* * *

Jack gave everyone the night off. Then he went to capture a particularly difficult weevil. In the city, he ran into Gwen, who was out with Rhys, and enlisted her help. (Why does Rhys stick around? He really has to see how badly she treats him.) In any case, Jack and Gwen followed the weevil to that parking garage (what is it with that place? Weevil Central?) Apparently some men in a white van grabbed the weevil and took off. Now Jack's called us all back in to work to figure this out. Poor Tosh looks like she was woken from a sound sleep. Owen hasn't answered and isn't responding to texts. Must've left his phone off… again. So here I am, just past midnight, brewing coffee and compiling a report on the increase in possible weevil victims. This always happens when he gives us the night off.

Jack says that the weevil spray is becoming less effective. There was something they had back at Torchwood London, in the research department. Wonder if that would work on weevils? Really don't know what Jack expects me to do with this shirt. It's all ripped and bloody and there's a piece missing. I can clean and I can mend, but I'm not a miracle worker.

Owen still isn't answering. Jack says to keep trying until he does. Asked Gwen if she'd gotten 'hold of Owen yet. She twitched when I said his name. Think maybe she found out 'bout Diane.

* * *

On my rounds of the vaults this morning I stopped for a bit with the little blue hamsters. I'm sure that they're trying to use sign language. They should try texting, much easier. While I was there, one of the weevils, the one called Janet, started to put up an awful row. At first it seemed to be screaming, but it sounded too sad. Jack recons it's weeping. Says that Owen thinks they have some telepathy, at least emotionally. Funny, Jack seems all tough and heartless. Doing what has to be done and the like, but standing there, concerned for a weevil's telepathic pain, Jack's not so tough.

Tosh has traced the weevil van to a warehouse in the docks. She and Jack have gone to check on it. Still no word from Owen. Jack's starting to get a little annoyed.

Call from Jack wanting a trace on a mobile number for the last 24 hours. The call history's been erased and the last number was blocked. I'm on hold with Laurie at the phone company now. She's not having any luck retrieving the information either. Jack isn't gonna be happy. Nothing Laurie could do either, looks like they might have someone on the inside, a phone company employee. She has no idea how they could erase the files. The information's just gone.

When I went to autopsy to tell Jack the phone's a dead end, Gwen mentioned that someone still has to tell Dan Hodges' wife that he's dead. For a moment I thought either Owen or Jack were going to nominate me. I think I'd rather be locked in a room with a weevil than go to notify next of kin again. Eugene's mum, I couldn't do that, not again.

Gwen went to talk to Mrs. Hodges. Jack sent Owen with her. Don't know how that will help, but I have to admit, I'm glad that it wasn't me. While they were gone, I went to find Jack to tell him about Torchwood London's alien repellant. Found him down in the vaults again, looking at the weevils. Looking worried. I don't like seeing Jack worried. It always makes me feel safer when he's in control of things. As much as he likes to joke, I think he has a certain kind of respect for the weevils. I know he doesn't want to see them hurt. It made me think though, we talk casually about weevil hunting, we lock them away in the vaults, Owen studies them. Then we talk about these people 'kidnapping' weevils and how we have to stop them. I'm not too comfortable with all this. Jack said it's different, but didn't elaborate. Guess I'll have to trust that he's right. In any case, while he wasn't thrilled at the source, he is eager for a new effective repellant, so I'm in the Archives, looking through the files scavenged from the London office.

Gwen came back from the Hodges. She seems to have left Owen somewhere along the way. It's about time. Found the repellant files and am in the Tourist Office putting together a brief report for Jack. Well speak of the Devil… Jack just stopped in. Tosh has worked out how to get to who is responsible for the kidnappings. Jack tried to convince me to go in for some undercover fieldwork. He told me how much confidence he has in my skills, and in me. I told him that made one of us. He just did that thing where he tilts his head down and to the left and says my name. I didn't know how else to explain it, I told him about that dream. I had it again last night: Its dark, ahead the cries are louder, the screams. My gun is drawn, but my hands are numb and I can't feel it there. A door in the dark. Bold in action, if not in my heart, I kick it down, enter the room. In the darkness the room is empty, save for a mountain of shoes. It's the shoes. The screams. The shoes themselves cry for help, on behalf of their already dead owners. I'm too late. I can't help any of them. I'm not ready.

Since Jack said I don't have to do the fieldwork, Owen has been nominated in absentia. Tosh showed me the template for the website she's working-up for his alias' company. He is gonna hate her for this (but Owen hates everybody right now anyway.) She's made him a salesman, a purveyor of the finest jellied eels. She just needs to drop-in some pictures of Owen, eels and the like. She wants some video of Owen talking eel (If he doesn't get back soon, I suggested we just animate a still shot of Owen's head and make it talk like a Terry Gilliam animation from Monty Python. She could make it dance and even add a jingle that he sings… "I am Owen and I sell Jellied Eels!!"

Jack has advised Owen he will be going undercover. Before he can go, we need to shoot the video and stills for his alias website. That enviable task fell to me. As he couldn't be the only person pictured, I asked the kitchen staff from the Turkish restaurant around the corner to stand behind Owen. Brought back kebabs for the team.

* * *

Owen's gone off to meet the estate agent linked to the weevil warehouse this morning. In the meantime, Leslie called from the hospital. Something she wants me to see.

The something turned-out to be a someone. Since I'd said no thanks, so many times, she now thinks I'm gay and wants me to meet their newest addition. She introduced me to Dr. Paul Hayes. Very nice guy, but I'm very not interested. I was interested, however, in his patient. Well, in his wounds at least. Very weevil-like.

On a second trip to the hospital I'm sure I overheard someone say 'the Angel of Death,' and another say 'Yeah, he was lurking around earlier today too.' Do we have another Deathbringer attack? Or were they talking about me? I am dressed a little dark today, but 'Angel of Death?' Seems a bit harsh. Johnny Cash, maybe. But anyway, Jack and I had gone back to talk to the weevil victim. Through the lobby, as we passed the little shop, I asked Jack if maybe we should take the guy something, he had just been through a rather lengthy surgery and all. We stopped for grapes. Still don't understand the whole grapes thing, but they looked good. Jack asked me if I like grapes. When I said sure, he said good, he never trusted anyone who didn't like them. Jack is a strange man. In any case, what had the guy so frightened that he wouldn't dare answer any questions? Especially when questioned by someone like Jack? If he wasn't going to tell us, Jack had a plan to find out. A very poor plan. Even when both Tosh and I expressed concern, Jack held fast. I could tell even he wasn't sure it was such a good idea. Jack's jokes get weaker when he's unsure. ('Not exactly the middle, a little to the side…' please Jack, that's about as funny as a Spott joke.) When we found the weevil's tracking device stuck on a fence, I could tell Tosh and I were both biting our tongues. That would have been the end if Gwen hadn't called with the text message. Without that text, Owen would be dead. What would make anyone get in a locked cage with an angry weevil? They must have forced him. Even still, between a bullet and the caged weevil, I might just choose the bullet.

Apparently most of those men were choosing to go in the cage. Don't get it, not at all. Why would you put yourself through anything so painful? To feel alive? Anything that hurts that much, is that hard on you, I say get out while you can. The first rule of fight club: don't talk about fight club. The second rule of fight club: better yet, just forget it entirely.

* * *

Weekly inventory of the alien artifacts is complete, as usual, but we seem to be missing a dose of retcon. Don't think there was a miscount, but I'll ask Jack. Maybe I shouldn't ask Jack. What if he's used it on me? Okay, minor bout of paranoia there, just wait, it'll pass. Also in the odd category, two pizzas were left by the couch this morning, untouched except for a single bite.

Jack said he hadn't retconned anyone all week. He'll check the CCTV. That started me thinking about various things we've done in the hub and all the cameras. Jack said not to worry; he's moved all that footage to his own personal database. I wasn't worried, not until he said that.

* * *

Tosh called me over to her station, had something she wanted to show me. It was the Harper's Jellied Eels website. Told her I'd seen it. She said I hadn't seen all of it. She pointed at a little cartoon eel in the corner of the screen and told me to click on it. I did and immediately the screen was filled with a picture of Owen's face. Never knew Tosh was a Monty Python fan. The picture of Owen began to speak, its jaw sliding up and down like a window. She had actually pieced together audio bits of Owen's own voice, presumably from the CCTV footage, "I am Owen and I sell Jellied Eels!!" The picture was immediately joined by a dozen cartoon eels and they did a kind of can-can dance together, singing "Buy Owen's eels, Buy Owen's eels! If you take the time, you'll find they're fine! So buy Owen's eels…. To-day!" I laughed so loudly Jack came out of his office to investigate with a resounding, 'What?' Both Tosh and I answered, "Nothing!" and scattered before he could ask anything more.

Jack's gone to see Owen at the hospital. Told him that I thought Owen might need some more time, time alone. Jack told me not to be ridiculous, Owen's fine. Ridiculous? I don't think I'm the ridiculous type.

Back from the hospital, Jack sent Gwen and Tosh home and called me into his office. I knew what that usually meant he had in mind. Tonight, however, was different. Jack handed me a drink and offered me a seat. Then he told me he wanted me to start taking more of a leadership role. As Owen and Gwen are both often… occasionally… unreliable, emotional and as Tosh is smart, but too focused on just the science. I tried to protest, convince him I'm not ready. Jack said, 'I've been watching you, Ianto. You're not the teaboy anymore. Give yourself a chance. You are ready.'


	14. Back and Forth

Picked-up Owen from the hospital this morning, back to his flat for a change of clothes and then in to work. He's not saying much. Still think that Jack's pushing a bit. Owen could do with a few more days to think, and to recover. Even now he's pretty bruised and banged-up. He mentioned he needs to get his car back from Lynch's. I think maybe I'll drive her over and have Tosh drive it back for him this afternoon. Distance from this whole encounter wouldn't be bad for Owen right now. Owen, however, seems to have other ideas. Soon as we got to the hub, first thing he wanted to do was check on the fight club weevils. Face his demons?

The blue hamsters are definitely trying to communicate with me. Every time I pass them in the vaults they jump up and down and wave. This last time I stopped and watched. They all stopped waving and started doing what looked like a little hamster hula dance. Then there's this one, assume it's their leader, stepped forward and moved around in a pattern. Then he (she? no, has to be a he with that hair) stopped and looked rather intently, even expectantly, at me. I shrugged and smiled, and he did the same moves again, slower. Thought about copying the moves, check the response, but that would be one of the times the rest of the team was gathered around the CCTV, watching. Intergalactic diplomacy will have to wait; I'm not doing the hamster dance.

Jack finally gave me an answer. I can find a house for Jade and Alesha from those left behind by rift victims without families. Just have to be sure that there isn't anyone who could come back and make a claim on it later. I think I've already found the one.

* * *

Asked Tosh if she'd noticed anything strange about the blue hamsters. She said no, well, other than their colour. Not helpful. Later Jack was down checking on the weevils we took… 'rescued' from fight club. Asked him about the hamsters, had he seen anything. Also no. Great, I'm the only one. I've got the universe's answer to Michigan J. Frog. Mine just happen to be dancing blue hamsters from space, such is life at Torchwood.

Started getting these headaches, pretty harsh, but they don't last too long. May need to break-down and go to see a doctor. Maybe Dr. Paul Hayes at the hospital. If Jack doesn't stop going on and on about that new U.N.I.T. liaison bloke, I might just.

Jack was just by while I had my head down on the desk. Told him about the headaches. He gave me a back-rub and damn! If it didn't cure the pain. Then again, always believed that man's back-rubs could cure anything. I wonder if Jack's going to want me to give him something in return for this.

Shit! Just realized that Owen was standing behind me, reading over my shoulder as I wrote that. That's all I need, jokes and insults from him about that!

Tosh said she was going to call her family and tell them she couldn't make it to the party. She's concerned with the increase in rift activity, says there is almost a pattern to it and it has her worried. Told her she should go, that I'd keep an eye on the monitor for her.

* * *

I started getting the headaches around Owen a while ago, when he was on his mobile. (Assumed it was the phone and not Owen, could still be wrong.) Now it seems that most mobiles are starting to give me the headaches now. Am I allergic to cell phones? Or to Owen? Don't think I could live without my cell phone. Owen, on the other hand… Why can't he ever mind his own business anyway? I was speaking to Tosh about ideas for re-decorating the house for Jade and Alesha. No one rattled his cage, but suddenly there was Owen, belittling everything I said. Guess I finally snapped a bit. Told him yes, I guess I do like things safe and boring… don't do weevil fight clubs and I don't go poking forks into toasters either. Must've got through, he just did that frowny Owen face and left. Must've really hit home, as a few steps away he stopped, turned, started to say something, but turned again and left. Owen speechless. I can now die happy.

Felt bad about what I said to Owen earlier. Knowing full well and apology would come across as a sign of weakness, ordered pizza instead.

Another report of music coming from the Ritz Dance Hall. Just not that pressing of a danger to rush over. Ack Argh! Aliens have invaded! They've come to conquer the world? To enslave humanity? Nope, to jitter-bug. Left a memo on Jack's desk, in case he's interested in checking it out. Jack is out. He's in a meeting with that U.N.I.T. liaison. He made sure to shave and change before he left. What's that about?

* * *

Owen's bruises have finally healed, at least physically. He really should talk to someone about the whole weevil-death-wish thing, about Diane, about all the things that have been making him even more… well even more Owenish than usual. He needs to talk to someone, just not sure who. Since he and Gwen are no longer, that's not likely. He can't ever seem to see Tosh as anything other than science geek… seriously. Normally I'm a big proponent of talking with Jack, but their relationships been a bit strained ever since Jack visited him in hospital. Hope he doesn't follow Suzie's lead and start retconning some unsuspecting civilian.

Jack called us into the conference room. Went over the quarterly reports. Said someone is using too many paperclips and it needs to stop. Then, just as he's dismissed us and we're all leaving, he says he's gotten the results back from the IQ tests we had to take a while back, 'Great results, everyone. Very smart. There's one of us, though, scored 20 points higher than the next highest.' He says. "Tosh." Gwen and I say together. 'Nope.' 'Me?' Owen tries to look humble but it just comes off as smug. Jack gives him that smirk, 'Nope. Ianto.' So I guess, "You, Sir?" 'No. Ianto. You.' Jack grins. Must be a mistake, but the look on Owen's face… as they say in the credit card commercials, PRICELESS!

The hand in the jar has started waving at me again. Was beginning to think that it was cross with me for something, as lately it had gone to just sitting (floating?) there. Occasionally it seems to need attention (don't we all?) I'm starting to think that it knows sign language. Maybe I should put it down by the blue hamsters for a while and see if they get along.

* * *

As everyone's been busy lately, I've tried to make myself available, in case Owen wanted to talk. About all its accomplished is to give him more opportunities to call me tea-boy and otherwise insult me. Well, if it helps him cope, I guess I can put up with it. In any case, about all he does is sleep as of late. That's where he is now, asleep on the couch. He was supposed to go with Jack to investigate the reports of music from that dance hall, but as he was out cold, Tosh volunteered to go instead, as long as Jack can drop her at the train station by 2p.m. She's got her grandfather's party in London later tonight. She actually considered asking Owen to go with her. She was going to tell him that she didn't like taking the train by herself, or ask him to pose as her boyfriend in front of her snobby cousin, or some other such story. I'd told her she should just show-up at work, all dressed-up and ready to go. When Owen saw her, he'd comment on the dress and she could just ask him to go then. I think she was going to give it a go, but he was asleep the entire time she was here. Almost went over and kicked the couch, just to get him to wake-up for her, but he's always extra cranky after he naps. He'd probably just say something extra cruel to Tosh and ruin her evening, and she's stressed enough right now, without that.

Lost contact with Jack and Tosh at the Ritz. Tosh's monitor program sent an alert, but both their comms are down and they aren't responding. Gwen's going to get and track them down.

It would seem that Jack and Tosh have fallen, or have been pulled, through the Rift to another time. Leave it to Jack; the time he lands just has to be during the height of the Cardiff Blitz. There are pictures. Pictures of Jack and Tosh from 1941. Do wish I could figure out why this one guy in the picture looks so familiar. Gwen is at the Ritz now, seeing what she can find. Owen is all worked-up, wants to just blindly open the Rift and bring them back. Does he think opening it is as simple as opening a door? A door that hides Diane as well? We have to be careful. We can't risk everything just for the people we love. Opening the Rift puts the whole world in danger.

Bilis Manger: The caretaker of the Ritz is here in Cardiff now, but was there in 1941 too. The same age (and the same clothes?!) And I'm sure I've seen him somewhere before. If I could just get rid of this headache, clear my head, I know I've seen him, met him even. Then there's that name, it's odd. Like a made-up word, an anagram or something.

Owen's gone to the Ritz. He's still looking to open the Rift. Doesn't he realize the danger? Why can't he see it? That was the first thing I realized, working here, you can't mess with the Rift, you can't control it. He has to be stopped. But how? Jack would know what to do, what to say. Tosh could solve it; even Gwen could talk him out of it, whine and yell 'til he saw things her way. But they aren't here. There's no one else.

Regardless of protocol, maybe I should have just helped him. I knew where the blueprints were all along (really thought he'd never find them with Jack's filing system… half the time not even Jack can find what he's looking for in there without my help.) I thought if I slowed him down enough, we could find another way to bring them home. But then he said Jack wasn't our leader. When we fought for the file… I knew I didn't stand a chance, that he was going to win. Bastard didn't have to kick me when he'd already won. My ribs / his shoulder. Guess we're even, even though he doesn't know, I think he's cracked a couple of my ribs. Still finding it a little hard to breathe. But in the end, Owen did it. He opened the Rift and he brought them home, safely. The world didn't end. Godzilla didn't appear and destroy Cardiff… or Tokyo either, for that matter (at least as far as we've heard.) Guess Owen was right. I was wrong and nearly lost Jack and Tosh. I screwed-up.

After everything that had happened, after shooting Owen, and after almost loosing Jack and Tosh, I thought it might be time for another round of Chinese take-away (and not the game of "Chinese take-away" that Jack likes so much.) Jack was finishing-up a phone call to U.N.I.T. in his office while the rest of us started in. That was when Tosh told us about the man in the pictures with them from 1941 (not creepy Bilis, the other one.) He was Captain Jack Harkness, the real Captain Jack Harkness. Our Jack had told her that he'd been in WWII before… somehow. Jack, it isn't even his name. He stole it. How can that be? Was there another time rift? No one else on the team understood either. Both Gwen and Owen jumped on the computers and tried to look up information on him. Tosh said not to bother, it was the first thing she'd done. We don't have any idea who he is, really. I just sat there, feeling confused, alone, lonely. But the more I thought of it, the more I realized. If Jack isn't his real name, and he doesn't want us to know, there must be a reason. I have to believe he has a reason. He's still our leader, even if we don't know everything, or even anything, about him. His name doesn't change who he is.

Jack just called me in to his office. Told me he'd reviewed the CCTV (required by Torchwood protocol on any in-house shooting.) He said he was impressed with the way I'd handled things, the way I'd handled Owen, especially after the things Owen had said to me. In that commanding tone of his, 'Very nice work, Jones.' (I didn't tell him that I'd wanted to help Owen; wanted to do anything and everything to bring him back.) I was just starting to feel comfortable with Jack, that all my recent doubts were foundationless. That what I felt wasn't one sided, that I wasn't misled or used. That I wasn't just a shag… until. Jack went on to say that he thought it would be a 'good idea to make sure that we didn't do anything to advertise our…relationship, to the rest of the team.' Confirmed. Owen was right again. Jack was never serious; he was only ever screwing around with me until he found someone truly interesting. Someone not me.

Now the coffees brewing and I can't stop yawning. As I'm waiting for it to be ready, I can see Jack down in his office. He's watching me and keeps motioning wildly, trying to catch my attention. I'm ignoring him. Wonder how long it'll take him to notice.

Apparently he noticed quite quickly. Observant type, isn't he? Within a minute of writing the above, Jack was up beside me in the kitchen area, at the coffee machine. I tried to look like I was occupied with the machine, but he wasn't buying it. Noticed that everyone below was fully occupied and not observing us, Jack noticed too. Thought it would be a typical time for him to grab a quick snog, with no witnesses and all. Instead, he just took my hand off the steamer handle and held it. He asked me how my headaches were and if that was what was causing my apparent sleep problems. I said that must be it. He wanted to give me another backrub, but I said I needed to deliver the coffee, to which he replied that I really didn't need to do any of that anymore. I made some lame comment about if I didn't do it, it wouldn't get done. He wanted me to take some time to relax and feel better, stroking my hand and my hair. I've started to think I was wrong. We do have more. Jack does care about me. What we've shared hasn't been purely physical, not just sex. We're more than that. I'm more than that.

Was thinking some more about that creepy Bilis Manger. How can he be here and in 1941 at the same time? Or was he just both places at different times and doesn't age? Was he responsible?

Later in the evening, when everything was quiet, Gwen was on the phone to Rhys and Owen was back asleep on the couch, Tosh told me about what she felt, being Japanese and stuck in 1941. The most out of place she had ever felt in her life, she realized how much she'd miss her family and her friends, her life here. How much she took for granted. Then. Then she told me about him. She thought it was romantic, thought I'd appreciate the image, the idea. She told me how they spent time alone together, how they talked, how they danced, and how faced with separation… how they kissed. She told me how perfect they looked together, as if made for one another. She said the two Jacks, our Jack and the original, looked so in love with each other. She asked me when either of us would ever find anyone like that, such a perfect match. Tosh didn't realize. She didn't know, with her few words, how she utterly tore my world apart. Everything I had, thought I had, dreamt I had, was ripped from me in an instant. Owen was right. I was nothing more than a part-time shag. How had I come to convince myself I was ever anything more? Why would someone as unique and as amazing as Jack, ever really be interested in anyone as unremarkable as me?


	15. Dead and Gone

End of Days

End of Days

Jack tried to get me to stay tonight. Guess he hasn't realized I'm trying my best to avoid him right now. (Or maybe my best just isn't good enough?) In any case, I held strong. Told him I had to take Moses the cat to the vet in the morning… He has hairballs. (Moses the cat, not Jack… well maybe Jack does too. I wouldn't know.)

////

It's not like I was getting any sleep anyway. But 3a.m. and Jack calls me in. He's working… so I'm working. Well, to be fair, at this very moment the work I'm doing is making coffee. Once it's ready, however, it's back to real work, back to the research. Research what? It's Torchwood, what else is there to investigate? Armageddon, of course. What's that over there? Why it appears to be the world, in a hand-basket, no less. Where's it going? Hell of course. Typical bloody Monday.

Report's done. It's 7 now and Jack's calling the rest of the team in. He's been on the phone all night to every organisation with pretentious names so long they need to go by initials. The news reporting is getting panicky. UFOs over the Taj Majal? Guillotine in Paris? Beatles on the roof of Abby Road Studios? Well if that's not proof of the end of the world, I'm not sure what would be. Things are getting weird all over the planet, not just here. Here things feel tense. Not just the usual impending doom at Torchwood, really tense. Jack must be getting nervous about what's happening; he always gets more defensive when he's worried.

Do the research, Ianto. Your reports are always so thorough, so complete, so helpful. Your reports can save lives. Just wish you'd let me know in advance if you're not going to even bother to let me present the findings of those reports. 'Cause next time I'm not coming in at an un-Godly hour to write a report no one can even bother to hear. I'm asked to research the report, write the report, but you won't listen to the report. What's the point? If I've got to face the end of all things, I coulda used some more sleep. I think Gwen's the only one who at least pretended to listen. Is Wales the only place they teach manners anymore? Damn! Am I cranky this morning. Still, it'd serve them all right if it turns out the answer to this whole mess was right in the middle of my report! This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a "Told you so."

Jack's told us to meet in 15 minutes in the conference room. He says it's so Tosh can assemble additional data. Don't think that's quite it. Thinking that probably the real reason to move the team into the conference room, has more to do with diffusing some of the tension, than with gathering data. More of a chance to cool down, calm down. The guiltier Owen feels, the more assertive, the more aggressive, he gets. Jack can be the same. One day those two are really going to go at it. But in any case, I'm using the time to brew some of Jack's industrial strength coffee. Might be a record-setting coffee day. Have the feeling that today we're gonna need it. Don't know which is causing more pressure, the stress between Owen and Jack, or the impending doom. These fractures, they're spreading like cracks in a windscreen, moving out across the planet like a spider web. Risking our lives to protect the world, now it may be us that ends up destroying it. It'd all be our fault. My fault. My fault because I wasn't capable of stopping Owen. And I did try to stop him, even though he was doing exactly what I wanted to do, but what I could never do, not even to get Jack back.

Priority One at the hospital. A hot zone. Hope everyone's okay. Since starting here, I've gotten to know a lot of the staff. Neil and Leslie, they're in A&E, right in the middle of it. Plus Gwen's gotten a call from someone she used to work with. She and Jack have gone to check on something at the police station. Once again I'm left alone to man the hub, left with a nearly full pot of coffee. If I don't dispose of it soon it's gonna take all the glazing off the coffeepot again.

All alone and the weevil reports have started coming in. Brilliant. Where are we going to put them all? At least I've got the new repellant spray Tosh worked-up from Torchwood London's formula. First to test it in the field, that's me, Ianto Jones: Tea boy and guinea pig.

Lisa is dead. I saw her die. She's in a drawer in cold storage, next to Annie. I put white carnations there for her, every Sunday. I know this. This is fact. Can there be any other explanation besides insanity? Torchwood. Torchwood can't always explain everything. Some things are just inexplicable, just can't be reasoned out, not with science. Some things require faith. Lisa, my Lise. She came back to tell me, to help me solve this, to fix this, to save everyone. Have to tell Jack. Can't tell Jack. Not the mood he's in. He's sacked Owen. He. He really just blames himself for all that's happening, but it's easier to focus it on Owen, who broke the rules. But still, I think he would have let it all go, all of it, right up until Owen questioned his leadership, his qualification, his right. Owen has always gone too far, too fast, without thinking it through. Like with Diane, back at Christmas… Christmas…I remember where I've seen that creepy Bilis Manger before.

Jack and Gwen had come back earlier today with a Roman soldier; he's in the vaults now. Felt a twinge of jealousy but couldn't tell if it was towards the soldier, or Gwen. Tell myself it really doesn't matter. Not like Jack's mine or anything. Whatever that was… whatever we did or shared, it's obviously over now. So, in any case, Gwen had seen Bilis Manger in the police station while they were there, but he'd disappeared. Thinking that he's involved in all this, in a more sinister way, Jack and Gwen have gone to see Bilis at his shop in the arcade, the shop where I'd bought Jack's Christmas present. I'm routing them there now on the comms. It's kinda funny, when people forget that the comms are open and chat away like that. Things they'll talk about when they think that no one's listening. Still, with my direction updates, they might have realized I was there. Starting to feel like one of the servants in Gosford Park. Hello? Still here, you know. Creepy Bilis' there, in his shop. Not exactly hiding or anything. He just told them that he can see the whole of history, but he doesn't belong anywhere within it. Sad, I know how he feels. It's not a good feeling, being able to sympathize with the creepy evil guy. Still, he does have some nice clocks and and and and the only way to make it right is to fully open the rift its true that's what Lisa said its true it's the only way to save everyone its true it isn't too late. What the hell did I just write? Don't remember it, I was just listening to creepy Bilis over the comms. Creepy or not, maybe it is true. Maybe it isn't too late to save everyone.

Jack came back without Gwen, says she just ran off to who knows where and wouldn't answer any of his calls. Jack raged on for a full 5 minutes about people just running off, the irresponsibility, how it can leave the rest of the team in danger, the just plain thoughtless rudeness. I called her at home. She'd gone to check on Rhys, said Bilis had shown her a vision, a vision of Rhys dead and covered in blood. She wants me to come and help her move Rhys. "Hello Rhys, nice to meet you, I've heard so much about you." Very nice Gwen, first time you invite me to your flat has to be to help you move your unconscious boyfriend. Jack's taken the phone and is talking to her now. He isn't happy about it, any of it. Looks like we're going though, better get Jack's coat.

Rhys is down in the vaults. Never thought of it as a place to keep loved-ones safe. Maybe we could open-up some of the lower levels as a B&B. If the world keeps crumbling like it is, it might not be a bad idea. I was talking with Tosh about what might happen if the Rift were opened. Bit surprised she didn't know about Protocol One. She's looking over some of the data now, but agrees we should talk to Jack about it first.

All the people we saved by opening the Rift, they lived, but they were just replaced by all those who died in Abaddon's shadow. All those lives lost, who might have lived otherwise. Jack. Jack is gone from us. I still don't understand what happened. Just a blur. We opened the Rift. We had to, there was no other option. Rhys was dead, murdered in the vaults, lying on the autopsy table, drenched in blood. Gwen was upset, distressed, disturbed. I wanted to tell her that when I said we'd tell his family, I meant that I would tell them… I'd already worked-up a non-alien, very heroic death for Rhys; it involved a bus load of kids, and a puppy. I know it was grief, but Gwen can be so unkind, like we enjoy doing the things that have to be done. And what she said to Tosh, always bringing up being alone to her…It doesn't matter. None of it matters anymore. When Owen came back I stood with him and the others in opening the Rift. I knew it was the right thing, the only thing that could be done. How far back would the reset go? Surely it would save Rhys, the people, my friends at the hospital, those around the world. Would it go further? Would it return Diane? I think it was probably there, in the very back of my mind, the nagging selfish thought: would it cancel-out Jack's trip back in time? It was so incredibly selfish, but I thought that it could happen, along with saving everyone, as a bonus, for taking a risk, for just once being something other than safe and boring. Would it, could it make me someone that Jack could truly care for? I remember that I could feel our resolve faltering. Could feel the doubt leak in, but then Jack… I couldn't understand why he would say those things. Thinking back now, I think maybe I understand. Jack wanted to try it too. He wanted to open the Rift, to risk everything, to try to save everyone. At the same time, he couldn't bring himself to do it, he couldn't be responsible, he couldn't even give approval. But in being cruel, he steeled our resolve. Made us carry on, rather than back off. He wanted this to happen, I'm almost sure. Of all that happened next, however, I'm confident I'll never be sure. Owen, he hit his breaking point. He shot… he killed… he shot. Did I doubt Owen? Did I think he wouldn't? Why didn't I do anything? Why wasn't I stepping between the two of them? There in that place in the back of my mind, the slightest whisper of 'Don't move.' Then it was too late. It was already over and I hadn't stopped it, hadn't saved him. In that instant I couldn't believe he was gone, taken from me… Stop that. Not from me. He was never mine, never to be mine, but taken all the same. I truly wished it could have been me instead. Instead of Jack. In the end, I think that's why I didn't back out like I wanted to, why I went through with helping to open the Rift. At that point, in the middle of my stunned numbness, I remember a thought swirling in the darkness… whatever reason there might have been before, the scant possibility of resetting… to a time back before Jack was taken, that was enough. I would have destroyed the world, the universe even, just to have him back, or to be able to take his place.

The universe, it seemed, had other plans for Jack anyway. Somehow with a bullet in his head and two in his chest, Jack wasn't gone. Hadn't been killed. Wasn't dead. He came back. But it was all just a tease. He came back, but he chose to go again just as quickly. All by himself, all alone he faced-down that creature from Hell. I would have helped, stood by his side, died by his side, only he only wanted Gwen.

/////

Heroic. Growing-up, I always thought I knew what that meant. I didn't know anything until I met him. Then he was gone. This time he didn't come back. Gwen said that when she first met him, Jack told her that he couldn't die. If only he'd been right. That afternoon when Gwen called, crying. When we followed the GPS to the SUV and found him there, cold and alone. When Owen, Tosh and I carried him back to the hub. While we waited. While we hoped that he could do it again. While he lay on the slab. While we prepared his body. While I prayed. While I wished that I had died with him.

I wanted to stay with him, to hold him, to kiss him, to scream at him. But I can't. Jack didn't want the others to know. So whatever we were, whatever we shared, I can't show how I feel, not even now. Now that he's gone.

/////

I hate that she left him there in that field. Left him all alone while she went to check on Rhys. Left us to get him, bring him home. Now she sits by his side, refusing to leave. The mobile she left on her desk kept ringing. Eventually I texted Rhys to tell him that she's fine but can't get to the phone, that she'll be home to him as soon as she can, and not to worry. Rhys feels confused and abandoned. I know. Gwen hasn't moved from cold storage. I hate that she sits with him. I can't sit with him so when the others aren't here I sit alone in his office. I sit in the dark, that way it's easier to pretend that he's here, with me. The clock says its 6. I don't know if that's morning or evening. There aren't any windows here, at least none that face out into the world outside. It's been days now. I don't want to know how many. Forcing myself to do work makes the days crawl, but they do eventually move. I can only see the passage of time in the removal of debris from the hub. Tosh and I are going to work on the power feeds today. I've made coffee with the temporary machine Owen brought in this morning. Tastes like something out of the vending machine back at Torchwood London. Still, I've brought a cup for Jack. The blue and white stripes on his mug stand out against the colour of his desk. The mug sits, its contents slowly cooling.

////

Maintain eye contact and smile. There's nothing to smile about. Nothing at all. Be brave and smile anyway.

Tosh was clearing some papers and came across my report. She told me that they all should have paid attention to my research. That it was all in there, if they'd only listened. She was trying to make me smile when she asked me how wonderful it felt to have been right, to be able to say, 'I told you so, you should have listened.' Eye contact and smile. Told her exactly how it felt, it felt like shit.

He was dead. He was pale and cold and dead. Just as I'd finally resigned myself to a life without him in it. Just as I'd come to realize how much I'd miss him. Just as I could feel the harsh and empty void within me, he's back again, bright and warm and laughing. When he walked up from cold storage, when I saw Tosh run to him and hug him, I couldn't breathe, couldn't think. I went to him, and he hugged me. He kissed me. There in front of the entire team. I almost passed-out before I remembered to breathe again. Not only did I have my Jack back, he kissed me, in front of everyone. I wasn't a secret he didn't want let out… not anymore.

Jack was wearing his greatcoat in his office. Asked him if he was cold, wanted me to turn up the heater. He said no, he wasn't cold. He just wanted to wear the coat, that it smelt nice, that it smelt like me. I told him that while he was…gone… the only way I'd finally managed to fall asleep was while holding it. Then Jack said that it was a first, that never before had he ever been jealous of his own coat.

The biological experiment mug was destroyed when the Rift opened. Shattered. There were no warnings for that. Sure the computer said that the Torchwood infrastructure could be compromised, but never was there the slightest cautionary mention of the serving ware… or the coffee maker. Can't stand the coffee from Owen's 'Mr. Coffee.' Tosh's suggested that we all go to that café down the street for something better. I suggested that just she and Owen go, but she wants me to get out of the hub for a bit. I'm tempted to send her and Owen off, create some absurd excuse to stay behind with Jack. But the reality is, I just have a ridiculous fear that if I turn around, if I blink too long, he'll be gone again. Irrational, I really should get out more.

He's done it again, Jack's gone. Hours after his latest resurrection. Just up and vanished. We came back from the café and he was nowhere to be found. Noticed that the hand was missing as well. Gwen actually asked, 'What hand?' I couldn't believe it. The hand, the hand in the jar, sat on this table for the last year. Waved at me every time I walked by. Gwen had absolutely no idea what I was talking about. Jack's probably just hiding from Gwen, down in the archives or something.

Tosh keeps trying to get me to speak Japanese. She won't believe me when I say I only know a few words. On the way back with the coffees, a tourist stopped us and asked how to get to the M-4. I told him. Tosh insists I told him in perfect Japanese. Owen is playing along with her. I'd think I'd know if I could speak fluent Japanese. If this is their idea of a joke, I really never will get the English sense of humor. When Jack comes back out of hiding, maybe he can get them to give it a rest.

Physically searched the entire hub. Life sign monitors, etc. He just isn't here, anywhere. I've scoured the city. Any place I could think of that Jack might go, anyone who might have seen him. I even went to the police. They were less than helpful. Must admit I was a bit… insistent. They threatened to arrest me if I didn't leave. Eventually a PC Andy showed up and convinced me to follow other avenues. Even offered to help. I remember a while ago, after they'd picked-up the Roman soldier, Jack mentioned this guy that Gwen used to work with. Said that next time we needed a new recruit, he might be good. (PC Andy, not the Roman.) Went on for a good minute or two, that you could tell he didn't want to believe it, but he could cope with it, all of it, strange or not. Torchwood material. I said, "He's cute, isn't he?" To which Jack replied, 'Yeah, kinda. Jealous?' "Only if you hire him." Jack just laughed. Typical Jack. I miss him.

CCTV shows that Jack wasn't taken. He left us. There he is in the middle of the hub, looking around at some odd noise. He gets that grin and takes off running, grabbing the hand and a bag on the way. CCTV can follow him out the hub, across the plass and towards a big blue box. Then Jack and box just disappear, like neither had ever existed before. What's Jack doing with a police box anyway? What's a police box doing with Jack? And why is there a police box in 2007, at the base of our water sculpture? And most of all, why would he leave without a single word to any of us? No note. Nothing. Why would he take the hand? He isn't coming back. Seems he's found what he was looking for, waiting for, his someone better. His someone not me.


	16. After

It was hard getting out of bed this morning. Just seems that little bit more pointless every time. Sure Torchwood saves the city, the country, the planet, all on a fairly regular basis. But the last few days, it's just been harder to get motivated. Started a bit of research on police public call boxes last night. Thought it might help me understand. Wish now I'd never looked. It was in the archives, in the files brought back from Torchwood One. Quite a bit was missing. Have the feeling it's all been moved, hidden away in Jack's personal files. But I won't look at them. Even if I ever would look at them, I don't need to. There was enough left in the archives to see. While I'll never be able to guess where he is, I know who he's with. I was right. Jack found his someone. His someone I could never be.

The monitor picked-up some Police radio calls. Appears there's a large crab-like creature in the cellar of a High Street shop, but the police thought they'd have a go at handling it and hadn't bothered to call us directly. The team stood around looking at each other. Finally Tosh asked if they we're going to do something about it, snapping them all out of a kind of reverie. Tosh looked at me. I looked at the floor. Off they went. Owen was back a minute or so later for the med-kit he'd left under his station. Everyone seems as much at a loss as I feel. If someone doesn't step up to replace… to take charge… Cardiff, at the very least, is doomed.

The crab-thingy (Crabite?) is in the vaults. More lobster-like if you ask me. Not sure it's even alien after all. Tosh isn't getting any anomalous readings. It's not even really that big, but Owen says it put up a hell of a fight (think he was a little afraid of the thing, maybe he has seafood allergies.) They're keeping it locked-up for now. Gwen said if it turns out to be terrestrial we should just make crab cakes.

* * *

Thought I saw him across the Plass on the way in this morning. Just for an instant. But it wasn't him. Up close, didn't even look like him at all, but from a distance, maybe it was just the way he moved.

Was just thinking, wondering whatever happened to Creepy Bilis? No one has even mentioned him since he called forth Abaddon the Devourer. Last we saw of him, was in the alleyway after his little rambling tirade of a speech. Why do villains always seem to need that little speech? What, unleashing devastation on an unsuspecting city isn't enough? Anyway, last thing he said was something about his work being done (wish I knew the feeling) and then he was gone. Did he retire to Spain or something?

This morning the phone in Jack's office started to ring and I'll admit that I was thinking it could be Jack himself when I hurdled the railing by the Rift Manipulator in my sprint to answer it. No Jack. Just some U.N.I.T. General looking for him. When I advised him that Jack was unavailable, he wanted to speak to the second in command. Second in command? Last person with that title officially would have been Suzie. Nope, she can't come to the phone right now. Not unless we can find the other glove, that is. So who? I'd looked out into the hub and as Owen and Tosh were busy, handed the phone to Gwen. Glad I hadn't told the U.N.I.T. General that I was next in line (as if I ever would… or could) 'cause Gwen has been on the phone with him for a good hour and a half. Appears Jack was a little behind on his Cooperative Reports on Para-terrestrial Activity (always thought they should switch the last two names for a much more appropriate acronym: C.R.A.P.)

Well, maybe there's something to be said for being top-dog. Gwen has shown her leadership skills in her deliberate application of the art of delegation. In fact, she's chosen to delegate all of Jack's belated paperwork… on me. Like I didn't have my own admin to finish. Appears that the last report he filed was on a certain oversized stapler. Before I could even really get started, however, Tosh came-up and asked if she out-ranked me here at Torchwood 3. When I said, "Yes, of course you do." I expected her to hand me a stack of her paperwork as well. Instead, she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me out the door. When I protested, she would only repeat, 'Shut up, Ianto. I out-rank you.' Yes, ma'am. We took the SUV (Owen's right, she really does re-adjust the driver's seat into submission.) She ignored all inquiry as we drove, all the way to Newport, to a particularly 'industrial' street. There she parked and headed down an alleyway. I followed behind, and was just trying to determine if I should draw my gun when we entered a shop. 'Pick out whichever one you want, Ianto.' Tosh stepped aside and revealed the most incredible selection of coffee and espresso machines I had ever seen in my life. Beautiful!

We returned to the hub, machine in hand (well, both hands, it is massive and heavy!) to find that Owen had spent the better part of the afternoon re-organizing the Torchwood kitchenette, and re-locating it to the main floor. 'Can't have you tucked-away up there where we can't find you. Especially if the team is called out on a mission.' Tosh said. I told her they could just text me updates from the SUV. Owen, fairly snarling, asked with the world ending at any given moment and all, how long they'd be expected to sit and wait in the car for me to show up. I must have looked confused. He continued, 'Torchwood isn't getting by with three field agents, Ianto. Unless we can find a suitable weevil, looks like its gotta be you.' For Torchwood, that was outright sentimentalism. Never in all my time here have I ever felt so included, so… so I'm stuck with fieldwork, ready or not, willing or not. Maybe I could break an arm or something. Just hope I don't screw anything up too badly.

Expressed some concern over the idea of being a field operative, about being ready. Tosh told me, 'You're ready. You've been ready for quite some time.' Owen just glared at me and frowned. I can see it in his eyes. And he's right. I'm just the tea-boy. I'm nothing special; I can't do what they do. Before, with Jack, there was always an excuse I could find, something to delay it a little longer, make it all like it was my choice. Jack could always handle whatever it was, and didn't need me. He could afford to let me stay behind, because there wasn't anything they needed me for anyway. He only ever gave me a job here at all because he felt sorry for me. Ever since, he let me come up with excuses to stay out of the field because he knew I wasn't ready, and that I probably never will be. With only three of them now, I get the distinct impression that such excuses aren't going to work anymore. My own fear of screwing-up isn't going to save me from it this time. But what if I did? What if I do? What if I do go out, and I screw-up, and someone doesn't come home because of it? Because of me?

Wonder if there's another alien pendant, like the one Tosh was given, 'cause Owen just looked at me again and said that I won't screw-up, he won't let me. I reminded him that I'm still not even checked-out on automatic weapons, on field procedures. 'You don't need a test, Ianto. You need experience. And as long as you can hit what you aim at, who the fuck cares about certification?' At that he flexed his shoulder, the one I'd shot, and stared at me, long enough I had to look away.

For a while after that we were silent as I continued working the files. Owen and Tosh went on to talk about life at Torchwood, life after Jack. Tosh was concerned about all the things Jack handled, things no one else knew about. She looked sad, and tired. She wondered if it would be best just to give-up and shut it all down. Owen said that after this, he didn't know what other job he could stand doing anymore. 'Life without all the aliens and shit?' I was amazed. After all these two had seen, had done, had faced together… to think about giving up. I thought I'd said it quietly enough. I'd never meant to be heard when I said, "Have you ever considered piracy?" Owen looked so utterly bemused, 'What?' I thought about saying, "Nothing." About looking away. But for some reason I didn't. I continued. Risked the reaction… "I was just saying… You'd make a wonderful Dread Pirate Roberts." Owen looked at me for a long time and this time, this time I didn't look away. Then he suddenly broke-out with such a bark of laughter, Gwen yelled from across the hub, 'WHAT?'

Can't express how empty the hub feels now, tonight. Everyone else has gone home, like always. Its night and he isn't here. Lonely. Even if there never was anything real between us, it was comforting to feel him here. His presence. He made my world feel safe. Warm. Worthy. Now its dark and I'm alone again. Can't do the paperwork in the Tourist Office as everything I need is down here. Can't do it at Tosh's desk as her chair is set permanently up too high and Owen's hurts my back. So here I am at Jack's desk, trying not to be distracted. Even as I write that, my eye is drawn to the piece of coral displayed on his desk. It seems to pulse just ever so slightly in the low light. Find myself staring deep into the centre of it, the heart of it. I look away and everything here elicits a memory. I'm still working it through, how I finally felt about him, now that he's gone. Not sure if I loved him or despise the very thought. I am beginning to realize, it isn't going to change, it won't get better, it doesn't matter. He's gone and it's over, his choice, never mine, whatever it was or it wasn't. Move on without him, because I have to. The team needs each other now, each and every one of us. Tea-boy or not, I have to do what I can to help them. We have to stick together (Shit, I'm starting to sound like Gwen.) In any case, I don't care anymore about what Jack and I had or didn't have, or even given time, might have had. None of it matters. Now I have to focus on doing what the team needs. Right now it needs me to get these reports done and filed, and out of the way.

He really isn't coming back.

* * *

Owen was in early; for him, really early. As it was yet another night I hadn't seen my flat I was shaving in the locker-room when he came in at 6. 'With me,' was all he said. So I followed him, through the hub and down to the shooting range. There he had arranged a full display of Torchwood 3's collection of fully automatic weapons. I looked at the table full of guns and back at Owen. 'Well, c'mon, show me what you've got.' I looked back at the weapons again and selected a gun, simply as it was the nearest. 'Today, Ianto. Before the whole damn world is invaded.' Emptied the clip in rapid succession. Three shots hit the paper of the target, none within the printed outline of the weevil. Owen took a deep breath and ran through all the standard suggestions for firing weapons (squeeze/don't pull, breath control, eyes open, etc. etc. etc.) Figured 45 minutes of Owen's most intense instruction was enough. My next clip resulted in a tight cluster of holes where the weevil's heart would be and another cluster right between its eyes. Owen actually grinned, announcing that he could now officially certify me for automatic weapons. Wonder if he knows that I realize the targets had been moved a full 2 meters closer than they should be for certification. Also wonder if he knows I could've scored the hits even if he'd moved them 2 meters back instead, even without the benefit of his celebrated weaponry insight.

Owen was over with Gwen, seemed to be telling her of the unbelievable improvement I've made in my shooting skills, thanks no doubt to his expert instructional skills. Little does he realize that shooting at an inanimate paper target was never the problem. 7a.m. and everyone is in now. They were never in that early without a call, or an emergency, before. Everyone seems to be pulling together, taking up the slack. Now that… It's… Our new coffee machine is truly brilliant. Cappuccinos for everyone. When I delivered them, Tosh volunteered her and Owen's help with the paperwork. That's very nice. Even nicer if I hadn't finished it all at 4 this morning. Oh wait, Gwen's just brought out another stack of paperwork from who knows where. For me? Thanks ever so… (She's really taking to this new leadership role, like she was born for it, or at least like she was born to boss people around.) I have never been so happy to hear the Rift alert in all my life.

Well, I was happy to hear the alert until I remembered that they wanted me along with them in the field, starting today. Flame creatures. Really? All over town? Perfect. Evil and a love of destruction? Typical. What to do? Fire extinguishers. Where? Over there? Thanks! Done and sorted. While my tie got singed, and I got a little smudged, it wasn't that horrible. At least no one tied me up and tried to eat me this time. Now it's back to my stacks of overdue admin paperwork. Why isn't there ever an alien flame creature around when you need one? No, really. Managed to get away, up to the Tourist Office for a half-hour this afternoon. Used to spend so long up here. Everyday. And a half-hour has been about all I can stand. After the events of today… I don't think I could endure an entire day up here again, even to avoid Gwen and her admin. When I was out fighting the flame creatures…I think I felt it, just the slightest bit, that rush. Tosh is right, it's incredible!

Owen wanted to go to the pub… after work. Assumed Gwen and and and… Tosh, Toshiko, Toshy-Tosh would be meeting us there, at the pub, after work. But after an hour or so, realized it was just the 2 of us. Owens alot easier going, outside Torchwood… and with a few pints in him… He was actually almost civil. Sure hes still sarcastic, but its much much much… much funnier when I'm not the target. As evening wore on, realized he was in no condition to drive, and I wasn't much better. Offered to share a taxi, at which point he hugged me. Drunk Owen. Guess it beats Surly Owen. Once we got a cab he forgot where he lived... he hugged me again because I knew his address. It's my job to know. Then the taxi pulled up to where Owen… used to live. The building that used to house Owen's flat was now nothing more than a biiiiiiig pile of rubble, flattened and charred and all burned-up in the flame creature thingy's ramble through the city. Thaz when Owen remembered, he remembered he'd figured he'd be living out of his car and the hub for the next bit. He claimed this as proof that he really wasn't that drunk… that he could remember where he lived; he just couldn't remember where he'd parked. So as there was a taxi, conveniently right there, AND we were conveniently already IN the taxi, we headed to my flat instead. Proof that he really was that drunk: he tried to kiss me goodnight as I unlocked my front door. Now, I have a drunk Englishman sleeping in my guestroom. Brillyant!

* * *

I have a hang-over, a diary entry more embarassing than most, and Owen is still asleep in my guestroom. Suppose that's what I get for accepting drinks from so many strangers at the pub. At least Owen drank more than half of them. At least I think he did. It's all admittedly still a bit of a blur. On the plus-side, the dull hang-over headache seems to be numbing-down the usual sharp "It just hurts just to be me" headache.

Turns out all Owen has left to his name is the 'Mr. Coffee' he'd left at the hub and a pile of his clothes. Too bad the flame creatures weren't more discriminating in their destruction.

Well, I've gone and done it, offered to let Owen stay in the spare room 'til he finds a new flat. Probably shouldn't have offered over breakfast. He said that he couldn't remember the last hot breakfast he'd eaten that didn't come in a sack from a drive-though window. Now I'll never be rid of him.

Raised Tosh's eyebrow, when I walked in with Owen this morning (or maybe it was just that we walked in and weren't fighting over something or the other.) Told her about Owen's flat and said she should offer to let him stay with her instead. To which she replied, that unlike some, she's only got the one bedroom. For all her technological brilliance, that woman can be really thick sometimes. I told her that too. She said at least she didn't get Owen drunk just to get him back to her place, like some people she knows. (Said it with a straight face as well, well almost.) Gwen's timing is nothing if not perfect. She walked in on that and I know she's going to spend the better part of today assuming that we were talking about her, and in her power-mad state: plotting some form of retribution. Now, if everyone would just stop talking so loudly…

Told Gwen that the flame-aliens had torched Owen's building and suggested that maybe Torchwood could help him out a bit. (Really didn't want her dwelling on what she thought Tosh had said earlier, both because I know how it feels and 'cause she'd eventually take it out on Tosh in this new evil-Gwen-power-mad state.) She actually said, 'Well, I suppose he could sleep in the vaults. But just for a little while.' The vaults? For a little while? Never ever did I think I could ever feel so indignant, especially on Owen's behalf. What have they done with our soft-hearted, overly empathizing Gwen?

Spent the rest of the day on the paperwork I hadn't yet finished. Both Owen and Tosh helped, but it still didn't quite get finished before I had to come home and start dinner. Never before have I taken admin home with me. (Actually found an old briefcase down in the archives.) This is getting too domestic. In any case, if I didn't get out of the hub this evening I felt like my head was going to split. The headaches are really all the time now. As I was leaving, Owen asked how long I'd had them. I couldn't even remember a time when my head didn't throb. He said he'd bring something home with him that should help. (And that he'd be home by 7… if I could have dinner ready by then. Way too domestic.)

Owen apologized to me tonight: Said with the headache he'd had all day he could sympathize, and before he'd left the hub, he'd checked over my medical records. He'd found a note Jack had entered and only just now realized that he'd cracked 3 of my ribs back when we fought over the Rift blueprints. Said I should have let him take a look, tape them properly and all. He also said he really hadn't been thinking and had never intended… Owen apologized. Note to self: check the cellar for pods.

* * *

Dr. Owen Harper, in his official capacity as Torchwood 3 medical officer formally prescribed me: a day off. No debates and no arguments. 24 hours away from the hub, not on call, and preferably out of the city. Gwen tried to protest, but Owen wasn't having any of it, suggested 48 hours would be even better. They we're still arguing when I left. Drove up to visit Joan in Abergavenney. She's actually grown about an inch in the month or so since I saw her last. She seems really happy with her new family. Her new dad's so proud of her. Showed me her school reports. Top marks all around. She was right back to holding my hand every second I was there. She asked how Jack was. I lied: said he was fine, that he'd wanted to come but couldn't. That he sent his love. Then, when it was time for me to leave, she wouldn't stop crying (I know the feeling.) I promised I'd visit again next month for her birthday.

* * *

Now that I'm back in Cardiff, the headaches are back. Yesterday they hadn't really gone away, but they weren't nearly so intense. Maybe I'm allergic to the city. Still, think I'll take the headaches over living in the countryside. Too many images still linger. This morning Owen said something over breakfast… what did I say at the pub the other night? About Jack?

Gwen actually told me that I had to submit a formal written request or I couldn't take some time to help Jade and Alesha move into the house, that she couldn't consider it 'official Torchwood business.' Took the better part of an hour in the files to even find an official time-off request form. Then, filled-out in triplicate I handed it in to her. After all that, she still denied the request. Best she could offer was that next weekend she'd try not to call me in. Never have I missed Jack-the-Boss as much as I missed Jack-the-everything-else, until now. It's not just me. She yelled at Tosh today because… I really don't know why. But the look on Owen's face afterwards… lets just say if looks really could kill Gwen'd be in cold storage by now. Wish Tosh could have seen that look, the look on her behalf. But Tosh didn't look anyone in the eye the rest of the day. I sense a mutiny in the air.

Feel like I have to sneak around, just to get everything done without a certain hawk staring me down. Why? Why? Why didn't I tell that U.N.I.T. General that Tosh was in charge? Or even Owen? I've created my own personal workplace horror. Forget it Dr. Frankenstein, you've got nothing on the monster I've created: Cooperstein. This is more than 'absolute power.' There's no residual Rift energy around her, I checked. There has to be something going on in Gwen's personal life that's caused this. When I have to actually sneak down to the vaults just to feed the weevils and hamsters, there's something wrong. We have, however, a hamster breakthrough: Tosh was running a diagnostic on the CCTV systems, so I took a chance that I wouldn't be seen, and headed down to the vaults. I knew they were trying to communicate. They did that little dance again. Trying my best to maintain whatever precious little dignity I still had in my possession, I copied a few of the moves. The whole hamster flock got so excited they bounced off the walls, literally. I sat down on the floor (note to self: the floors of the vaults really need sweeping-up. No, really) and watched the head hamster. They're so small, it's hard to see, but there are hand gestures, a sign language. Didn't take long at all to understand most everything he was saying. There was a kind of intrinsic logic to it all. Fairly soon I was able to compose apparently coherent hamster sentences. That hamster has a wicked sense of humor! And apparently also some psychic ability as well, as he suddenly froze, looked to the door and mimed what can only be described as Frankenstein, and pointed. I'd removed my comms earpiece before heading to the vaults, so I hadn't heard Gwen's summoning bellow. Out the back door and up to the hub before she ever saw me. In all the time I'd been at Torchwood 3, I'd never before felt so like a school kid ditching class. As I ran through the hub Owen tossed me a file folder, and I crashed on the couch just as Gwen emerged from the vaults. As she quizzed me as to where I'd been, scolded me that she'd been calling me, I tapped my earpiece and told her sorry, must need a new battery (and to catch my breath.)

* * *

It's become absolutely intolerable. Someone is going to slip a weevil in her car one night if she doesn't back off a bit. She's gone and rearranged Jack's office. With the desk in the new spot, says she can see better, to keep 'in touch' with the staff. Since when did we become her staff? This is not Gwen. Not our Gwen. There has to be an alien influence here, but what? How? May need to fall back on my researching skills tonight, to see what may have possessed her and caused such a horrific transition to occur. Owen may have to put-up with a pizza for dinner.


	17. After Jack

After Jack

Something Tosh said the other day just occurred to me. She'd been worried about all the things that Jack used to take care of, things the rest of us don't even know about. What will happen to them? What will happen to the residents of Flat Holm Island? It's not all automatic. The funding and the staffing, I know Jack oversaw it all, directly. But now… As far as I know, I'm the only person here who knows the place even exists. Do I tell the others? Or do I keep it secret, like Jack had wanted? Still don't understand why he wanted it kept under wraps. It's a good thing they do there. A horrible situation, but good work done in light of it. If I'm the only Torchwood employee who knows about the island, I guess it's up to me. It has to be maintained. Kept going. Kept secret. I won't betray his wishes, even though he…

Owen made a comment about saving the world, to which I added, "One file folder at a time." He snorted, Tosh frowned and I knew they felt the same. Save the world for what? Why bother? When all we do lately is paperwork. When I first started here, I'd have been thrilled to be 'contributing' this way. Admin. Now it just seems redundant and rather pointless. Everything seems just that little bit pointless.

The paperwork is endless. C.R.P.A.s for U.N.I.T. are now up to date, at least. The last few were a little difficult. Wasn't easy, figuring how to word them. Still, suppose they're going to find out eventually that Jack isn't here anymore. That he left us and we've carried on the work without him. Not that it's any of U.N.I.T.'s business. Just don't want them knowing just yet. Because they might think it's a good idea to come in and try to take over? Maybe. Because informing them of it is admitting that he's gone, and not coming back? Probably. Anyway, even with everything caught-up, Gwen is determined to have me busy every second of every day. A year or so ago, she had the brilliant idea of a driving rota. It was vetoed back then, but she's resurrected it now, and asked that I devise one to which everyone can agree. Well, I can work one-up for her, but don't ask me to promise that anyone's gonna agree to it. Promise. That's funny. I promised to visit Joan on her birthday; Gwen still won't allow anyone any time off (too much work. What work? It's done. Still have to be here, to save the world... whatever.) But I promised Joan. I always keep my promises.

I'd thought about just going anyway and retconning Gwen when I got back (I am still the only one of her 'staff' who knows the combination to the retcon locker.) But I knew full well I never would. In the end I probably would have resorted to begging and pleading with her (Wash your car? Do your laundry?) until she relented. As it was, I needn't have worried about it anyway. The Rift alert seemed a little louder than normal. Tosh seemed a little more agitated than normal. Looking back, I'm quite surprised Gwen fell for it, but then again, I guess I did too. Tosh had fabricated a Rift alert and when Gwen sent Owen to check it out, he took me with him, all the way to Abergavenney. All the way to Joan's Birthday party. I seem to be getting kidnapped by my teammates an awful lot lately.

I'm glad I could make it to see Joan. She's become so out-going, made quite a few friends, she seems so happy. So unlike the scared little shadow she used to be. Maybe this is why we do it, not the paperwork, but everything else. This is why, so everyone can have a great time, feel safe, have a birthday party, have a birthday. But that's a little scary, the sight of Owen running around, playing 'tag' at a kid's birthday party. Pretty sure he'd cheated at 'pin the tail.' I took pictures. Can't wait until Tosh sees them. Thinking about taking some cake back for her and Gwen, maybe not such a good idea now I remember we're supposed to be out chasing aliens. But I know in the end I'll tell Gwen where I was anyway. Just like I would have told Jack. I just need to think of a way so Owen and Tosh aren't punished for it. (Alien knocked Owen out, but he was fine, so while I waited for him to wake up I drove to Abergavenney? Brought you some cake…)

Owen and I stopped by the arcade on the way back to the hub. (Think we both felt a little guilty about the fake Rift spike, thought we'd do a little Torchwood business while we were out.) In any case, Creepy Bilis Manger's shop has closed. The entire inventory is gone and the shop is up for lease. We contacted the manager of the arcade complex, a Ms. Hales (Now she was something. Stunning. Had to keep nudging Owen not to stare… or drool.) She said Manger just disappeared in the night. So surprising: no forwarding address or contact info. Why can't creepy evil villains ever show a bit of consideration?

Back at the hub Gwen had suspected where we were. Tosh had already caved and told her everything before we got back. I tried, but Owen wouldn't let me take the blame and got into a yelling match with Gwen in Jack's office over it. Owen stormed out and hasn't come back. Gwen's been in the office with her head in a file folder ever since. Think I'll wait to show Tosh the party pictures 'til tomorrow. For now I've just given her a hug and told her "Thanks."

Took the cake and a cup of tea into Gwen after Tosh had left for the day. She'd been crying. Don't know what Owen had said to her, but he apparently hit home with something. Took a while, but once she started talking, it seemed she'd never stop. Ever. Gwen has been miserable since Jack left, but more so since she took command. She felt like no one liked her and that everyone wanted more from her than she had to give. By the time the tea and the cake were gone, she was visibly feeling better. Told her I'd finish-up what she was working on and suggested she spend a quiet evening in with Rhys. Things would be better in the morning. She actually smiled at that, but there was still that little hint of sadness. Wonder if the situation at home isn't any better than it is here. In any case, she kissed me on the cheek and headed out. Once again I'm alone in the hub, unless of course, you count the two tonne pterosaur constantly circling overhead.

Stayed late to help Gwen and ended-up with Owen mad at me. He wasn't upset that I stayed to help Gwen. No, he was upset that I hadn't called to say I'd be late, so his Indian take-away had gone cold waiting for me. Of all the flats in Cardiff, there isn't one available for Owen? Still, suppose if the roles were reversed and I'd had dinner waiting…

//////

Gwen's spent the entire morning in her office with her door closed. When it was Jack's door, it was hardly ever closed. And those times it was closed, I was usually on the other side of it, with him.

Took a round of coffee to the team. Gwen didn't want it. No one has ever refused my coffee.

Since everything is up to date and the Rift is still keeping fairly quiet, I headed down to the hamsters. Figured the best way to keep off the CCTV was to just tilt the camera. Really don't want anyone getting copies of me and the hamsters dancing. (Or even just me dancing, for that matter.) Today we had much more time to 'talk.' The lead hamster's name is Nash. (Given the length of those teeth, think it might be spelt 'Gnash' instead.) Had a rather long discussion, 'bout lots of things. Got the distinct impression the one thing he wanted to ask was the one thing he never did… 'Why are we locked-up here?' I'm glad he didn't ask, because I wouldn't have known what to say. I did realize that I needed to find a way to free them. Not just to open the door, but a way to send them home.

We got a weevil-sighting call this afternoon (strange for them to come out while it's still light outside.) Owen and Tosh were heading out in response when I caught Tosh's eye. I made a face that I hoped conveyed a sense of desperate urgency. She must have known what I was thinking because she looked down at her PDA and announced that there were a few more reported sightings and they'd need my help as well. None of us waited for Gwen's approval, but charged out the door. Once outside Owen took Tosh's PDA and confirmed there were no additional weevils. It didn't take him long to realize an escape when he saw one. Didn't want to tell them where I was going, in case I was wrong or it didn't help. Just asked them to text when they were headed back to the hub so we could all return together. Expected questions or what-not, but they both just nodded and headed off. Had a mission of my own… a mission to save Torchwood from utter devastation.

Once I explained to Rhys who I was, he finally let me in. Could tell he was suspicious at first, but after a few minutes and a cup of tea, we were talking like mates. Turns out Gwen and Rhys had been going through a bit of a rough patch after all. Lots of arguments, mostly about the things that don't matter, the things that only matter in a good old screaming row. I remember having those with Lisa. They were the kind of arguments that always led to… making-up. With Rhys and Gwen, however, they only lead to more arguments. As last time we were in a bit of a rush, and had a stun-gunned Rhys to move, I'd not had a proper look 'round their flat. It's nice and all, but what strikes me most is the alarming number of pictures. There's barely a square inch that isn't covered with pictures, all of Gwen and Rhys. Not just Gwen or Rhys, but them together. Always together. Like the camera joins them at the hip. Wonder if Rhys likes the reassurance that they're a couple. Proof, as it were, to anyone who can't believe that they're together. Anyway, after about an hour and a few more cups of tea, Rhys said he finally knew what to do, but needed my help. Just then I received Tosh's text. They were done and headed back to base. Called her back and asked if they could drive around for a while, I needed another hour. Owen grabbed the phone and expressed displeasure at driving around Cardiff with a pair of weevils in the boot. I suggested he take Tosh to watch the sunset or something and hung-up. I'll have to make him something nice for dinner tonight. In any case, I went with Rhys on his errand. Hopefully it'll lead to happier times for all.

/////

With any luck, that's it and it's all sorted. Gwen came in and is in a much better mood (positively glowing.) She's convening a team meeting in the room that we're calling the new conference room. We're calling it that, but right now it's a fold-up card table and set of chairs I found in the alleyway a few days ago. If I can ever get Gwen to deal with the really important paperwork, like the budgeting, I could get to work on getting the decor sorted properly.

Yep, Rhys has followed-through and proposed to Gwen. She's already the blushing bride, planning everything in a single day. She's assuming that everyone else is equally excited by her plans. Yes, it's annoying, but at least it's back to our old annoying Gwen. Lucky Tosh and Owen have managed to escape, gone to check-out reports of a possible slime-alien over at Cardiff Castle.

So after our discussion yesterday and our trip to the jeweler (still can't believe he was actually going to pay retail) seems that Rhys has managed to calm Gwen's issues (or at least a few of them.) Gwen's told me they'd had a lot of fights of late, mostly stemming from commitment issues and a few self-esteem points on Rhys' end. As he's recently lost his job, he's felt more than a little lessened, that his girlfriend was the only one with an income at the moment. Think I managed to pull off a surprised look along with sympathetic. Don't think she caught-on that I knew. Told her things were bound to get better and all. Same lines I gave Rhys just last night when I'd given him the name of that place that offered me a job right before Jack finally offered me Torchwood. If they offered me a position after that debacle of an interview, they might just go for Rhys. (And I think he'd fit in there much better than I ever would have.) Add that to my official job description… responsibilities: archivist, guard dog, receptionist, food and drink, butler, paperwork administrator, field agent, and now… both relationship and employment counselor.

Now, as long as Rhys remembers that if we ever meet, he doesn't know me: 'Nice to meet you… for the first time, ever.'

Gwen was crying again in Jack's office. (In her office. Jack left us all behind. Remember, its Gwen's office now.) An hour before, she was near dancing on the ceiling, then she's crying over a picture she's found. A little while ago, back in the throes of evil-power-mad-Gwen, Owen had Photoshopped a picture of Gwen's head onto a man in a WWII Nazi uniform, next to a woman in a bridal gown that now sported Rhys' face. The caption read: 'Newlyweds Mr. Gwen and Mrs. Rhys Cooper pose for a quick photo before returning to work putting the 'torture' back in Torchwood.' Between sobs, Gwen asked me if she'd really been that bad. I had to resist the urge to tell her and instead suggested that she try to convince Owen and Tosh that it had all been a carefully orchestrated team-building exercise (unite against the evil-new-boss, kind of thing.) Convince them all that it was her plan 'to rally the troops' and that done, things could relax now. Or… she could just start being really nice to everyone and hope they're too relieved to wonder what's changed. Gwen got a rather odd expression at that and asked me once again if she'd really been that bad, said she wanted the truth. I told her, no she didn't. She really, really didn't. Besides, Owen's picture hadn't even won the Torchwood 'power-mad-boss' photo competition… mine had. Against my better judgment, I pulled the photo from my pocket and showed her. Gwen's expression fluxuated from rage, to strangled asphyxia, to something in between. The newspaper photo of Abaddon with the headline: New Creature Wreaks Havoc only needed 'Creature' written over in biro, replaced by 'Boss,' and a photo of Gwen's face taped down, between the horns. Old school and lo-tech, but who's had time for Photoshop lately? She stared at the clipping. I waited. Fired? Or Shot? Which would I be? Then Gwen shouted 'OH! Really?' And chased after me out of the office. Round the Rift Manipulator once, and tackled me onto the couch and grabbed for the photo, which I managed to hold just out of her reach. Gwen threatened me with the imprisonment in the vaults, torture… tickling. Just then Owen and Tosh returned from their outing, covered with exploded slime-alien. There we were, Gwen and I, wrestling on the couch. Just try to act composed after that. But at least I think we finally really have the old Gwen back this time.

/////

Tosh said if I'm not careful, I'm going to develop a reputation as the office floozy. (No one but Tosh… 'Floozy'?) She cited the couch wrestling with Gwen as well as living with Owen. (At least she didn't mention Jack.) I told her that she was just feeling left out, did she fancy a cuddle? New levels of blushing have been achieved. Well, if she can't take it as well, she shouldn't tease. Still, makes me wonder why Owen still can't seem to find a vacancy in all of Cardiff. Don't think he's trying.

I was reading the headline on the newspaper Owen was reading at lunch today: Landslide Results Predicted as Election Approaches. Asked the team what they thought of this Harold Saxon. Tosh didn't even bother to look up from her files, saying that it didn't matter, he's going to be Prime Minister soon no matter what, but she liked him. Gwen just sat there, tapping out a rhythm with the heel of her boot tap-tap-tap-tap in rapid succession, looking rather distracted. Owen's response was a snarl and, 'He's alright. Better'n that Harriet Jones had been.' I said, "His website, take a look at it, though.' and brought it up on the monitor. Why do all of his pictures, even the ones from years back, look exactly like he does now? Look, University from 20 years ago and his appointment to the Ministry of Defense just 18 months ago. He hasn't aged and he's wearing the same suit in all the pictures. Owen just said, 'Give it a rest Ianto; we can't all be as suit-savvy as you are. Maybe he's only got one, not like that's so unusual, only having one suit. Lots of people only have one suit… and he ages well, or knows a good plastic surgeon. So what?' When I pointed out again, that they're supposed to be 20 years apart. … They're all taken in front of the same tree AND he's wearing the same tie in all of them! All well and good, someone only owning only one suit for the last 20 years… but just ONE tie? Owen just clicked on the 'testimonials' tab and said, 'Ooooo, Sharon Osbourne. She's a fuckin' riot.' Thank you, Owen. For your shining political insight.

//////

We truly seem to have our old Gwen back again. Yeah! She'd been on the phone with that U.N.I.T. representative, James Bloom when I entered the office with the latest load of finalized paperwork, and her coffee. She indicated I should sit, that this could take a while. From Gwen's side of the conversation, I could tell who it was. Bloom's the sort who asked questions, but never gave you a chance to answer. (Yes but- No we- How- But- I- We-) She looked at me, imploring me to invent an emergency, call her away, something, anything. I pointed to her and stood up, indicating that she should do the same. I mimed yelling into the phone and hanging up. Gwen just shook her head. I nodded. Her look asked: 'Really?' Nodded again and pointed at the phone. And she did it! One of those classic, 'No! You listen to me!' speeches followed. Haven't heard language like that since that time Tosh and I were out drinking and that incredible hulk of a guy wouldn't take no for an answer. I pity Rhys when he and Gwen get into a quarrel, hate to be on the receiving end of Gwen's ire. In any case, she summarized her loud but cogent argument by slamming down the receiver. Then she looked at me, fear in her eyes, and asked how much trouble was she in? I could see how truly worried she was. I just smiled. She started to ask why I told her to do that. I told her to wait for it, doing the mental 10-count. Five… four… 'For what?' Three… Two… 'For that.' The phone rang. Gwen jumped back from it like it had been a snake, the fear grown to terror in her eyes. I smiled my most reassuring smile and picked-up the receiver. "Torchwood Three, central control hub 159-62/zed/3446. Yes, General. Ms. Cooper will take your call. I'll patch you through to her." Gwen looked confused, but took the receiver. I mimed for her to sit-up, sound confident. She did, although it clearly didn't show on her face. A few minutes later the call was over and as she hung-up, she looked at me, perplexed. She asked me what had just happened. Told her that Bloom was a petty bureaucrat, who got what he wanted by pushing people around and bullying. The only way around him was through him, something. As she'd shown she wouldn't take it anymore, any contact he needed to make with her he'd now route to his superior, General Grant, a much more reasonable sort. She looked at me, rather dumbfounded, and asked if she'd yelled at him right off, that first day, could all that have been avoided? Probably. Why hadn't I told her? Because she hadn't asked, and probably would have bitten my head off anyway. Gwen just laughed. As I was leaving she asked about the codes when I answered the phone, what were they? Why didn't she know them? Would she need to know them? I just smiled and left. Best to maintain some mystery for the new boss (and never let on that I just make them up most of the time anyway. Very few situations actually require proper Torchwood protocol coding. U.N.I.T. is like a lot of military, they respect protocol and assume if it's something they don't know, it's above their rank. No questions asked.) As for Gwen, best for her to assume there are still things she doesn't know, because there are. Best for me if she believes I'm the only one who does know, because I am.

/////

Got Jade and Alesha moved into their new house with the help of the entire Torchwood team, even Gwen. For a house-warming gift, I presented them with Moses the cat. Knew that would either be the best thing ever, or the worst idea in all of creation. Happy to say it appears to be the former, rather than the latter. Jade wouldn't put him down and he wouldn't stop purring. Seems a match has been made. Owen cannot, for the life of him, understand why I never take-up Jade or Alesha on their constant offers to take me out drinking. When I said, "They're only 18." Owen's response was, 'Exactly what I was thinking!' Made the girls promise never to go out with him, anywhere. Ever.

//////


	18. After Jack Left

Several reports of possible living dead on the M-4 outside Swansea. Gwen and Owen went to check it out but didn't find anything. No zombies in sight. Thought about a quip over the comms, along the "How could you distinguish them from the locals anyway?" line. Given the Cooper family's valley origins and Gwen's recently…fragile mood, thought better of it. Went with a "We're not using the zed-word," instead. Tosh and Owen immediately joined-in, lapsing into statements of aiming for the head, a drink at the Winchester later, and the like. Gwen was silent for a bit, then tried to join-in herself, saying yeah, a drink later would be lovely. Does she never go to the cinema?

* * *

Over the last few days Gwen has backed-off considerably and things are running all the smoother for it. She still seems concerned that everyone hates her for the way she acted after 'taking command.' I suggested that she: 1)Relax. No one hates her… much (said it with a smile, so she took it as the joke that it was.) 2)Stop saying things like 'taking command' and 3)That perhaps she should find other, different inspiration for developing her management style, something other than the boxed DVD set of "The Office." She punched me in the arm.

I now have a large bruise on my left arm. 4)Stop hitting "the staff."

Owen complained of all the things he lost when his flat was… flattened. Apparently had quite a collection of records. For a man so impressed by technology, the idea of listening to vinyl seems a little incongruous. After all this time, to be depressed over the loss of his collection… couldn't help but remind him: records are meant to be broken. He didn't find that amusing.

* * *

Things are slow again. So slow, Gwen and Tosh actually found time to discuss my wardrobe. As they hadn't noticed that I was within earshot, it was a rather candid conversation. While Gwen 'admitted' I look 'hot' in suits, she felt that a more casual look would help identify me as part of the team. Tosh, however, felt that the suits were an important part of my innate 'Ianto-ness' and that my mode of dress was 'perfect' just the way it was. That was about the time that I noticed that Owen had appeared and had joined me in watching the discussion. He asked what it was like having them fight over me like that. Don't know how it feels, it was all rather surreal. Instead I just asked him if he thought Gwen was right (about the team identity, not the 'looking hot.') A couple of months ago, his answer would have been scathing, rude, or downright mean. Today, however, he just suggested I teach them a lesson for discussing me behind my back, that tomorrow I should show-up in something horrible, like a 1970's polyester suit. When I laughed at his joke, he looked smug. Then I asked him if I could borrow his suit tomorrow. Now I have a large bruise on my right arm.

Seems Owen feels bad about bruising my arm. He wants to go out drinking again tonight. Not sure that's such a good idea. Last time I ended-up with a hang-over and an everlasting house-guest. Still, might be fun, especially if we can get Gwen and Tosh to go along as well this time.

It took a bit of convincing, but everyone went along to the pub tonight. Might not have been so keen on going if I'd known it was 'Country Music Karaoke Night.' Before I even realized what was happening, Owen had shoved the microphone in my hand and disappeared. Brilliant. Wasn't in the mood for Johnny Cash, so guess that left me with Keith Urban's "You'll Think of Me." Have to admit, I was thinking about Jack when I chose that song (that and the fact that I had about 5 whole seconds to choose.) Some of the lyrics are a little too close to what I still feel... "But thoughts of us kept keeping me awake. Ever since you found yourself in someone else's arms, I've been tryin' my best to get along." Or more so, that entire verse:

"I went out driving, trying to clear my head  
I tried to sweep out all the ruins that my emotions left  
I guess I'm feeling just a little tired of this  
And all the baggage that seems to still exist  
It seems the only blessing I have left to my name  
Is not knowing what we could have been  
What we should have been"

But still, it makes me think there's hope in getting over him… eventually. When the song was done, however, as I walked back to our table, about a dozen phone numbers had been pressed into my hand, and a few slipped directly into my pockets. Seem to be quite a few (probably just overly lonely) women out tonight who think I should move-on. Maybe I should. Not like he's coming back. Like he's going to just appear one day with a 'Hi kids, did ya miss me?' or anything. In any case, the night proceeded. Tosh and Gwen did a rather unusual duet of "9to5" and Owen seemed very good at avoiding having to sing at all. Owen got sloshed… again. I tried to convince Tosh to offer him a ride home (didn't even suggest to whose home) but she just wouldn't give it a go. Really don't know what it's gonna take to get her to take a chance and go for it. She'll never be happy if she doesn't learn to take a chance. Gwen kept trying to set me up with different people. She had me dance with three different women before she tried sending some guy over (not really my type, Gwen.) I know she meant well, but I really wish she wouldn't. Feel a bit guilty, though, as I've got a pocket full of phone numbers, and no intention of calling any of them. I wish I could just tell her, I'm not quite ready yet, that I'm not quite over Jack. Not yet.

* * *

Guess Owen wasn't as drunk as he seemed last night as he's rather hangover-free this morning. In fact he was in the shower belting out a medley of songs from last night. Now I understand why he refrained from joining in. Don't know which I find more disturbing, his singing voice, or that he appears to know all the words to every Faith Hill song.

Found some archived reports today, from back before I started here at Torchwood 3. Neither Tosh nor Owen remembers hearing anything about them, let alone if they were ever investigated. Apparently there had been a series of Rift spikes centered around a castle not too far out of town. Tosh ran a concentrated scan of the area and it still appears to be at a level quite a bit above normal. The team thinks its worth looking into. Gwen wants me to work-up a cover-story and all the associated documentation to get us in. (Can't we figure some way to just re-use Harper's Jellied Eels? Far as I know the web-site is still up and running anyway.) Once that's all sorted, we'll go and have a look. What have I done? I know full well I'm expected to go on field missions, and now I'm instigating them?

Contacted the caretaker of Castle Ddraig s Anadl, Colin Davies. (At least it isn't Creepy Bilis Manger, as I was half-expecting.) He said that the castle is empty, currently undergoing reconstruction and due to open next year as a hotel. Also said that he's usually only around during the day, but he hasn't noticed anything odd. (Since working here, I'm always tempted to ask people their personal definition of 'odd.') In any case, he's invited us to come take a look around. No point in a cover story… just be polite and get invited to the strange old alien-infested ruin.

* * *

Torchwood field trip tomorrow. At least this time, no one's expecting us to camp. Preparations were a whole lot easier this time around. Just pretty much coffee and sandwiches, plus all of Tosh's usual kit. Hope to have it all packed and ready to just toss in the SUV in the morning. Owen and I are currently on the couch, replacing worn-out batteries and watching old movies on my portable DVD player. Well, to be precise, at this very moment, I'm by the microwave, waiting on the popcorn while Owen chooses the next movie. We've finished the pizza and watching "The Haunting of Hill House" already. Does Tosh even use half of these devices, to need so many batteries? And more importantly, does Owen own any DVDs that aren't horror films? Next time I'm going to have to re-think the "I'll bring the player and the snacks, you bring the DVDs." Still, I suppose Owen's horror film collection is a small price to pay for not being left all on my own to pack the gear for tomorrow… In any case, tomorrow's seating should be a little easier with just the four of us. I've asked Gwen sit in the back and go over some admin reports with me on the way out. That'll leave the front seat for Tosh to talk with Owen while he drives. (And keep Gwen and Owen from arguing… as much. Win-win.)

* * *

Arrived at the castle. There were work trucks outside, but no workers anywhere to be found. Same for the caretaker, Davies. We've looked around and he's simply not here, but he's left the door wide open and all, like he was expecting us (or had just recently gone running off, screaming into the countryside.) Soon after we entered the place, and unloaded all of the equipment, it all just went dead. I know the batteries were all new, fully charged, and installed correctly. Maybe we need to find a new battery supplier. Tosh and Gwen have driven back to Cardiff to get new batteries and check the Rift readings from there. They've dropped Owen at the nearest village (probably at the pub?) to see if he can find Davies or the workers. So that leaves me here in the spooky Rift-active castle nearing sunset, all alone. Tosh said she was sure I could find something to pass the time. I asked Gwen what I was supposed to do if something showed-up. 'Tell it you're the acting caretaker and offer it a cup of tea.' Not very helpful, Gwen.

Well it's just getting dark now. Owen is still in the village (pub) and Tosh and Gwen aren't back yet either. So here I sit, in the immense, cavernous entry to the big cold castle. They've left me a single pen-sized torch. Knew I shouldn't have watched "The Shinning" with Owen last night. Sudden urge to write "All work and no play makes Ianto a dull boy" all over the walls.

So there I'd been, sitting all alone, probably trying not to think about being there, all alone, when there's a knock at the door. The team knows it's open... Lots of evil scary things would just appear, or burst in… So whatever evil is lurking behind the door, ready to kill me… at least it's polite. Okay. So I answered the door and a giant beast didn't swallow me whole, or even in little chewy bits. No, I open the door to: 'Hi, I'm Jason from TAPS. We're here to investigate.' Yep, standing there outside the door to the spooky Rift-active castle just past sunset… the entire production team of "Ghost Hunters," come all the way from America. Brilliant. Hi, yes. Nice to meet you. I. Ummm. Hmmm. I'm the acting caretaker. Can I offer you a cup of tea?

Well, could've been worse. Took Jason, Grant and Steve (along with a half dozen or so camera crew) on a tour of the castle. Showed them where all sorts of things happened (or could have happened. Who's to say?) Figured a lady in white is always a classic. Voices, shadows, floating candelabras, flying books… the usual. Then they ran cameras and cables all over the place and asked if I'd like to watch from the production van. The lovely heated production van? Sat and talked with Steve while he monitored the teams in the castle. Very nice guy. (Appears the show wanted him on this trip to the UK so much they let him come by boat. We talked a bit about his fear of flying. He said that I made a lot of sense and he might give it a go on the way home. Couldn't help him on the spider thing. Have to agree: Too many legs.) Anyway, after a while a producer came over, said that they'd reviewed the footage from the tour segment earlier and liked the way I looked on camera. Asked if I'd be willing to go in with a team on investigation. Provide a little more history and the like. Sure, I can make-up some more history for you. Never thought I'd go wandering round a haunted castle with Steve and Tango from Ghost Hunters. They're calling me to go in now. Cool.

That was bloody amazing! I saw it. Her. She wasn't in white, more of a greenish-blue, but there was a woman. Half a woman. You could see through her, but she blocked light too. There weren't any legs from about mid-thigh downwards! She just floated there. She looked at me. She looked straight at me. I think maybe she spoke, but I couldn't hear anything. She spoke and seemed to point into the distance, to the west, ('Send them all back to America?') The guys said it was the clearest and longest they'd ever seen a full-body apparition. Jason and Grant immediately kicked us out of the East Tower to look for her themselves. When they couldn't find anything, they asked me to come up and show them exactly where we'd seen her. And she appeared again! Twice in one night. The crew had a debate going: half said I'm some kind of paranormal-activity magnet, the others that I'm their lucky charm. I like these Americans.

* * *

All that Torchwood sees, all that it does… No one believes me. If I'd said that a Vogon Constructor Fleet had come to invade and I'd fended them off with nothing but a towel… that they'd believe. Tell them I spent the night investigating ghosts with an American television show and it's all a joke. They won't even consider that I'm not pulling their legs for leaving me here all alone, all night. Fine. Won't show them the TAPS crewmember jacket they gave me, or the picture of me with everyone on the show. Fine. Gwen better let me have the time off though, as the day after tomorrow they need me back so they can present their findings. For now we have to go back in and check out the Rift activity.

As the sun was rising we went back in. the castle was actually quite pleasant with daylight, toured with a few companions with weapons, and the like. Looks like there's a bit of potential for the hotel idea, once there's a roof on the West Tower and all (otherwise the rooms in that section will need to be discounted a bit.) In any case, there weren't any giant aliens or glowy Riftstorms. Tosh couldn't find much in the way of Rift activity, even though her readings back at the hub had soared last night. Most rooms were completely empty. All I found was a small polished stone, about the size of a dove's egg, a nice bright blue colour, almost the same shade as the space-hamsters. (Probably just a coincidence.) But it does seem to hum or vibrate just a little when I touch it. Showed it to Owen and it wouldn't hum. He said it was just a worthless rock and chucked it through the window. (Good thing the stained glass hadn't been repaired in the West Tower.) Found the stone again later, down by the SUV, as we were leaving. Went ahead and put it in my pocket. Maybe Owen's right, maybe it is nothing. But something tells me it's a bit more than that.

* * *

They all still think I'm joking, but Gwen's let me have tomorrow off anyway. Back when she was being… difficult, I wish I'd known that all I had to do was tell her I had an appointment with an American TV show, to get time off from work. Owen doesn't care where I'm going; he just wants to know when I'll be back tomorrow and what he's supposed to do about his dinner. I've had to leave him a plate in the fridge. When did I get married? (And more importantly, why to Owen?)

* * *

Met up with Jason and Grant back at the castle. The footage they got was amazing! But the audio… that's the part that gets me. She was speaking, the lady in greenish-blue, and she was speaking… to me! The EVPs they recorded at the time, she was speaking specifically to me. She knew my name. The people from TAPS had cleaned-up the audio, but couldn't make out any of the words, other than what sounded like my name. I heard it, though. She'd said: 'Look west for what you seek, Ianto.' The crew gave me a copy of the footage and all the recordings. Now I just have to figure out just what it is that I'm supposed to be seeking.


	19. After Jack Left Me

Went to check on the hamsters this morning. They seem to be cross with me over something. Maybe I haven't been spending enough time with them? Needy space hamsters. Brilliant. In any case, went down and they ignored me completely for a while, they all just stood staring at the back wall of the vault. Tried my best to get their attention (have to remember to delete THAT footage from the CCTV.) Even then, I could only get a response from that short one with the kind of punk hairstyle (furstyle?) He/she/it finally looked at me so I could say/sign/signal "Sorry, I've been out of town." The hamster next to the punk one gave it a nudge and it turned away again, but not before giving me what I'd have to describe as a small hamster smile. (With those teeth, looked more like a hamster death-threat… but I've been trying to remain in a more positive frame of mind lately, so we'll just go with 'smile.') In any case, I guess I can feel sympathetic. I'm not a needy space hamster; I'm a needy Welsh tea-boy. I know how it feels to be left behind with no notice and no good-bye. Note to self: schedule visits to the needy space hamsters on a more regular basis… and maybe take them some nibbly chew-sticks as well.

Thought that with all we do to 'save the world,' Torchwood 3 seems to throw-away an awful lot of rubbish. Seems I'm always emptying the bins. As such, I've placed some recycle bins near the kitchenette. Now it just remains to be seen whether they will be utilized… properly.

Whatever happened to the castle caretaker, Davies? Tried calling a couple of times now, but no response. Is there some strange element to the Rift that focuses on caretakers? Either takes them away or turns them into homicidal, cravat-wearing time-travelers (and then takes them away?) In any case, don't think I'll go applying for any caretaker positions in the near future. Speaking of which, wonder how Rhys' job search is going, if he's applied at that trucking company yet.

* * *

Tosh is all excited about the recycle bins. She keeps asking why we didn't have them before. Told her I think we did, but they were destroyed or used for alien intestines or the like. In any case, she went and drank a bottled water straight down, just so she could put the first bit in the bins. Don't think that's quite the way to save the planet.

* * *

While doing a quick clean, found a small silver locket in the floor grating. Asked both Tosh and Gwen if it was theirs, but neither had ever seen it before. Was starting to think that it had been Suzie's when Owen said to just open it and see whose pictures were in it. Not big on just opening things since I started with Torchwood. 'Don't Open It' ranks just below 'Don't Push the Button' in importance. But as it was a slow day and it was just a little locket, once I was alone I did as Owen had proposed (if I'd done as he'd said, right then and there, there'd be no living with him. And as he STILL hasn't found a flat...) Surprise, surprise: no pictures inside, just a swirly, glowing light. As I looked at it, I could see, (not in the light, but as if inside my head) a scene. A scene between Jack and myself, here in the hub. A scene I don't remember. A scene I wish were real, but a scene that had never happened. So the alien locket either shows you what you want (but you're never going to have,) or it's recorded a memory that Jack's retconned from me. In either case, not much use. Filed it away in the archives.

Everyone seems to have embraced the recycle bins except, of course, Owen. Surprisingly, he insists on putting paper in the plastics bin and vice versa.

Conference room sorted. Found some table lamps in storage. Considering the overall look of the room, not real happy with these organic, art-deco things, but they'll do for now. I wonder if they're what were here when Jack first came to Torchwood… Owen wants the old conference room for a kind of hot house to grow some plant seeds that have come through the Rift. Never figured him for the plant type. Also not sure that growing Rift plants is such a splendid plan. On the one hand, we could find a cure for the common cold. On the other, sooner or later we could be hearing "Feed me, Seymour!"

The hamsters have apparently punished me enough. They've forgiven me and are back to their usual selves. The nibbly chew sticks have gone over well.

Out at the shops after work (as the hamsters have finished their chew-sticks already) I ran into Ms. Hales. Jane. She's the woman who manages the shopping arcade where A Stitch in Time used to be. (Still no sign of Creepy Bilis. I tell you, the Rift has something against caretakers.) After a bit of a chat, turns out she also manages the apartment building in which she lives. There's an available flat, perfect for Owen. Not the same kind of view he used to have, but hardwood floors and lots of room and light. Told Owen about it. I don't think of it so much as loosing Owen, but more so as regaining my guestroom.

* * *

Apparently several people have complained to the British Visitor's Bureau about our Tourist Office always being closed. They've called me to ask about it, saying that it's a surprise to them, as evidently we were nominated for an outstanding service award as well. In any case, I was advised that they'd be sending someone 'round at about 10a.m. today to check that everything is as it should be. That's a brilliant surprise inspection… by appointment.

Tosh's found time to work on her Rift Predictor program again. It's giving her some problems (constant false readings whenever there's an event at the Millennium Stadium) plus Owen keeps distracting her. To divert Owen so Tosh can get her work done, I've asked him about my headaches again. When I told him that they haven't gone away yet, he looked worried. That worries me. Owen worries, but he rarely lets himself look worried. Maybe I shouldn't have asked. Right now he's looking for some alien device in the archives to scan my brain. Now that I think about it… that really is worrisome. In any case, it's nearing 10a.m. I'd better go and open the Tourist Office for the surprise inspection.

Well that was interesting. Very pleasantly interesting. The Tourist Office Inspector came, at 10 sharp. Think I could find that proper inspiration to stay in the T.O. all day, every day, if there was the slightest chance that she'd stop by again. So there I was, straightening the bus time-tables (as I had been for the last 20 minutes) when the door opened. Looking eager to help, I faced the door, and tried not to stare at the vision that stood before me: Glynis Johns (no relation to the actress, but she seemed both pleased and impressed at my question.) She had to have been the most incredibly gorgeous woman I have ever seen. When she introduced herself and shook my hand, there was such a warmth to her touch and her tone… As the office isn't large, she finished her inspection within a few moments and was done. I think I maintained a business-like tone, despite what I felt. We spoke for a few minutes about local attractions and recommendations for nice places where she could get a drink later tonight. As she was leaving, she mentioned that this was the most welcoming Tourist Office she'd ever found and it had been a pleasure. I think I managed a "Likewise," and another smile as I shook her hand good-bye. Leaning against the counter for support, I took a deep breath to try to calm my racing pulse. Just then, the door opened again and Glynis poked her head back in to ask, 'That second club you mentioned… sounds nice. So, if you close the office at 6, I could be back by at a quarter-past. Okay?' Didn't trust my voice, so I just smiled. She smiled back. Brilliant. So I got back downstairs and Owen tells me we need to weevil hunt tonight. Wanted to tell him where to shove the weevils, but I think I just sighed. Owen, the bastard, just breaks-down laughing, 'You'd pass-up a girl like that, to fuckin' work? Must be something wrong with you, mate.' Seems that the entire team has been watching the CCTV again. 'Tell ya what, Ianto. You hunt the weevils, I'll take her out.' Gwen told me if I didn't go out tonight (with Glynis, not the weevils) I was fired. Tosh just smiled.

The prediction program is still giving Tosh problems. Pried her away from her station for a break, and we went for a walk down the bay. We haven't had time to talk lately and I've missed the way Tosh can just feel what I'm thinking: That this would be the first time I've gone out on a genuine 'date' since Lisa. It's just drinks, I tell her. Tosh paused a long time before saying, 'For now. You should find someone who can make you happy, Ianto. Don't wait, especially not forever.' I think Tosh is right, in more ways than she knows.

'You don't have a brain tumor or an alien in your head,' was how Owen welcomed me when I returned from my walk with Tosh. All his scans of my head have finished compiling and he still doesn't know what's causing the pain, but he can't find anything physical. (Great, the never-ending headache is all in my head. Isn't that helpful?) He says that it is most likely my body reacting to an outside influence; he just has no idea exactly what outside influence. Asked him if maybe it's from having to constantly re-sort the recycle bins. He said, yeah, that's probably it: I should stop re-sorting.

Tosh thinks I should take Glynis somewhere else tonight, somewhere more trendy, cutting-edge. I like music from the 80's, and it's the club she chose. 'But that's from before you were born, or nearly so.' So what? What do you listen to Tosh? Really. When you're home alone, what do you put on and dance around to when no one can see you? 'Elvis.' Uh-huh.

It's nearly 6p.m. now and I'm in the Tourist Office, just in case it was all a trick and Glynis shows up early… just to check that we're still open (also in case it wasn't a trick and she actually does want to go out with me for drinks.) I'm nervous.

It wasn't a trick. She was there exactly at quarter past, dressed for a night out. And the night out was wonderful. Turns out we went to the same school, only we were a few years apart. I'm sorry I don't remember her, but she says we never met. Glynis says she knew who I was and had always wanted to talk to me, but had never worked-up the courage. (?!?) Told her I'd never considered myself as the unapproachable sort. She just laughed and said she had been so painfully shy back then. Apparently I'd smiled at her outside class one day, just in passing, and she'd had to spend the rest of the day in the nurse's office so she wouldn't faint. Pretty sure she has me confused with someone else. We went for drinks which turned into dinner, which turned into dancing. After that was a walk along the bay. It was the same route I'd taken earlier with Tosh, but it's amazing the difference… I only wish she didn't have to go back to London tomorrow morning. We have phone numbers and e-mails and promises of a second date. Perfect.

* * *

Over breakfast this morning: lots of teasing from Owen about my date last night. Nothing I didn't expect. He still can't understand why Glynis and I didn't sleep together. "We only just met" doesn't seem to register as a valid reason in Owen's view. Well, that said and done, now I just have to face the inquisition that awaits me at the hub.

Yep, for at least the first hour after they came in, Tosh and Gwen asked me every conceivable question about last night. At least they had the decency to do it together, so I didn't have to go over all of it twice. At least Tosh understands the "We only just met" justification (though that doesn't stop her from saying I should have… anyway.)

Gwen's all atwitter. Apparently it's the final vote for that reality talent show she always watches. She's invited us all to her flat tonight to watch it with her. I say 'invited,' but it would seem that no excuse would be acceptable (not even: No thanks, I'm allergic. / I've already got plans. / Sorry, it appears that my appendix has just burst.) Talk about abuse of power. She even wants us there early and to stay afterwards. 'Make sure you bring your phones so we can all vote for the best one!' Where does she find the enthusiasm for that stuff? With some prayer and a fair amount of luck, maybe the world will end sometime prior and we won't have to deal with it. I really think I'd rather be dead. (No, now I really should remain more positive. I think I'd just rather be made permanently deaf.)

Called Glynis in London (see Owen, it IS her real phone number.) She got back fine, and has filed a glowing report on our Tourist Office. Asked her if she'd be needing to do any "follow-up." She said no, everything was fine and sorted. Began to think that I'd misunderstood, the old self doubts creeping back, when she went on to say that in about two or three weeks she was expecting to be sent on a trip to check on the accuracy of certain brochures on the Glamorgan area, and would love to make use of my local knowledge. (!!!)

* * *

Never made it to Gwen's viewing party last night. A last minute weevil sighting, so I called to tell her I'd be late, even hedging further: wasn't sure I could make it at all, if the weevil proved illusive. (That's probably why they weren't concerned when I didn't show-up.) But anyway, this weevil decided to be the first ever in Torchwood history to cooperate. That done in record time, and locked in the vaults, I had no excuse but to be on my way to Gwen's yet again, at least for her after-party. That's when it hit. Like someone had thrust a blunt pencil into my right eye. Almost crashed the car (alright, I admittedly did hit a large rubbish bin, but I'm pretty sure the bin was at least partially at fault.) It was so sudden and so intense; I remember checking to feel if there was blood on my face. Couldn't see and couldn't think clearly, or at all. Really don't even know how long I was there, only that in truth, I did wish I could die, just so the agony would finally cease. Owen found me in the end. No one had shown-up at Gwen's party and so she'd finally called around. I was the only one who hadn't answered the phone. Owen found me, as I said, still in my car, still parked in the rubbish bin, and took me to A&E. He made them do every test imaginable on me; tests the doctors there didn't even know existed. I had MRIs, CT scans, X-rays, blood tests and things, the purpose of which, I have no idea about. Everything has come back fine, and the pain has now receded back to the usual level, but Owen won't stop.

He's prescribed me something new for the headaches. A pill the size of my mobile phone, it appears to be the pharmaceutical equivalent of Jack's industrial strength coffee. I think it was originally designed to sedate tigers in the zoo. In any case, now I've managed to swallow the thing, it does seem to be working (or I'm just getting used to the constant pain again.) It does feel duller now, not so sharp. Definitely nothing like last night. Little by little, it isn't so intense. Now, if I could just get him to prescribe me something to help me stop thinking about Jack (Huey Lewis and the News lyrics spring to mind here… 'One that makes me feel like I feel when I'm with you…')

Clearing out old texts, and the like, from my phone. Came across the one Tosh sent me. The one of Jack and me, asleep on the couch. I looked for the copy that Jack had printed, way back when. Even though it's now Gwen's office, that will always be Jack's drawer. (And I'm the only one who knows where he kept the key.) The picture was gone, so it would appear Jack had moved-on, even before he had left. Even though I had more to loose than he did, I guess I can move on too. Deleted all the pictures from my phone.

* * *

The castle caretaker, Colin Davies, finally returned my calls. Seems to have been hiding all this time. He'd seen something in the castle, the night we arrived, and just took-off. He didn't want to talk about it, but eventually he told me. Apparently my lady in greenish-blue was there, but not so lady-like to Colin. In any case, she had wanted him out of the castle, and he hasn't worked-up the courage to go back. Can't help but wonder, when I saw her she was… enchanting. Colin described her has 'horrifying.' Was it even the same apparition?

* * *

Last night I saw the first commercial for my episode of Ghost Hunters. Owen wasn't in the room at the time, so maybe no one saw it. All things considered, maybe it's better if it stays that way.

* * *

Well, the team did in fact see it, the commercial. Tosh had seen the advert and downloaded additional footage from the website. Gwen called a meeting in the conference room, like there was some new alien threat. Once we were all there and settled with our coffees, she turned the meeting over to Tosh, who played the Ghost Hunters footage and commercial on the computer. When it was done, Owen sat staring at the screen and both Gwen and Tosh were grinning at me. For all that, I did hazard a "Told ya so."

Got a call from the Ghost Hunters producers. The episode has already aired in America. Ratings and the response have been brilliant. The fan mail response has been overwhelming as well. So good, in fact, the producers have offered me a regular job on the show. At the very least, would I consider appearing again once or twice sometime in the future? Oh, and by the way, Steve asked them to tell me that he made it on the plane, but off again before the doors closed. He hopes I'm not disappointed, and he'll keep trying.

* * *

Seems the producers called Gwen to talk about letting me have a leave of absence to work on the show for a while. She came to me all worried that I was planning on quitting. Assured her that I really wasn't planning on moving to America.

We were called to chase down a rather strange alien tonight. It looked like a giant plastic bag of jelly. It went after Tosh and Owen shot it. Of course it exploded, and of course I'm now covered head-to-toe in foul-smelling alien goo. Good thing I've got a good drycleaners. Gwen said I could charge the bill to Torchwood. I think she's worried I'm considering quitting. If I didn't quit when Jack left, I really don't think I'd quit over alien jam.

* * *

Ran into Jane Hales at the shop again, (as there's nothing in for dinner again tonight, really don't know where all the food goes lately.) Found out that Owen's gotten the new flat in her building with all new furnishings; all set up and ready to go. Also found out that it's been all ready to go for over a week now, and yet he's still in my guestroom. Maybe I should say something.

The team got together to watch Ghost Hunters. Well, that sounds much more organized than it truly was. Actually Gwen and Tosh just assumed we'd all be watching it together, so they showed-up at my flat. Owen, however, seemed to have been expecting them. At least they brought nibbles.

* * *

Glynis called. She'd seen my Ghost Hunting exploits last night. (In fact, it seems everyone in her office watched it as well.) Now the British Visitor Bureau would like to talk to me about some voice-overs and other promotional film/video work.

Gwen took me to lunch. I seem to be having trouble convincing her that I have no plans to quit Torchwood (unless she doesn't stop bothering me with all this.)

Owen's finally told me about his new flat. In typical Owen fashion he breaks the news by telling me he'd like my help moving tomorrow.

* * *

That works well, as Tosh will be moving in to take Owen's place. It would seem that her block of flats burnt-down last night (amazingly enough: not alien-related.) She spent last night in my bed. Note to self: next time I spend the night on my settee, I need to make sure I have a warmer blanket, and better pillow: Chilled and a sore neck this morning. I seem to have opened a B&B without even knowing it.

* * *

Owen's moved-out and Tosh's moved in. Yesterday was a long day, but at least no alien invasions (that we know about.) Woke-up this morning to the smell of toast and peppermint tea. When I got to the kitchen, there were also boiled eggs, the toast cut into fingers like Mum used to do. Thank you, Tosh.

Owen and Gwen were having a competition. Competition can be a healthy thing. It can be. This competition, however, revolved around answering the phone in increasingly childish ways. It started, far as I can tell, with Owen's 'Torchwood Taxidermy- Who do ya want stuffed?' Next time her phone rang, Gwen picked-up with something about 'Torchwood Exterminators.' Tosh and I just rolled our eyes and tried to ignore it all. Eventually, however, Owen took it as a personal mission to make Tosh laugh and has steadily increased the sexual reference and decreased the maturity level with each call. (I shudder to think who was calling; they didn't seem to stay on the line long in any case.) Not to be out-done, Gwen had become positively x-rated. Now, they've stopped even waiting for the phone to ring. Owen's down finishing the autopsy on that jelly-alien, while Gwen sits spinning in circles in her chair, trading answer-phone message ideas. Tosh has given-up all self-control and is laughing hysterically. Think maybe I'll wait it out, up in the Tourist Office.

They're still at it. I'd been hoping that without an audience, it'd have run its course and become tiresome by now. After all, it's been four hours. No such luck. Now I've taken refuge in Ja- Gwen's office. Figured while they're all distracted, it'd be a good time to do payroll and accounts for Flat Holm Island. That's all done and sorted now. Starting to think it might be…fun: call the Torchwood number and let them answer how they will, then pretend to be a U.N.I.T. General, or better still: President Winters of the U.S.

Okay… just as I'd gotten my mobile out and figured the best way to disguise it for the caller ID, as I'm about to dial, the line rang. Could hear the debate over whose turn it was to answer- Gwen's apparently. She'd just picked-up the receiver when Owen seemed to tell her it's me on the line- he was looking at me through the open door, with the phone in my hand, and whispering to Gwen. I could feel the rush of adrenalin as I could see just which phone line was ringing. "NO!" Was all I could get out as Gwen opened her mouth. Dropped my phone to show it wasn't me and waved both arms. "Don't!" But it was too late; she'd already said something about sex and a goat. I knew it was too late, but I dove across the hub and tackled her, grabbing the phone. It was about that time that I realized I had absolutely no idea what I should do next. I could have hung up, or pretended that it was a wrong number, but instead I stood straight, adjusted my tie, took a deep breath and answered with the Torchwood top secret protocol codes for the day. I've found historically, when all else fails, deny that there was just a crazy Welshwoman on the phone previously. It's a procedure that has served me well. I could see the annoyance in Gwen's expression shift to confusion, followed swiftly by terror. She looked from Owen to Tosh and back to me. "Yes, the Torchwood Agent-in-Charge, Ms. G. Cooper will hold for the Minister of Defense." She started to faint, but I caught her and held the phone up to her ear. Whispered that it'd merely been a secretary, not Saxon himself, just be polite and official. How much Gwen understood of what he said to her, I don't know. All she said on her end was, 'Yes, Sir.' Fifty-three times to be exact. In the end, she finally just stopped talking. I checked the phone and the line was now dead. But there she still stood, like a deer in headlights, so I hung-up the phone and lowered her into her chair. I've gotten her a cup of tea. Hopefully when she's done drinking it, she can tell us what he wanted.


	20. After Jack Left Me Alone

Wouldn't think that, given our security clearance, Torchwood would still have to check in two hours before a flight, international or otherwise. But here we are, checked-in and waiting at Heathrow Airport. When I left it last time, I really thought I'd never come back to London again, ever. Not after all that'd happened here… Now that it wasn't my choice to come… Now that we're here… While we're driving in, I'd thought about suggesting we go and take a look at Canary Wharf, now that it's been fixed and turned into a real, regular office building, full of real, regular offices. Now that it's no longer Torchwood One. Dunno quite why I was tempted to propose it. Maybe as a test, to see if I'm really over everything that happened there. Then I thought better of it. Recon that it'd be a distraction, and more distractions are something we don't need. Something I don't need. Especially right now. So here we sit, waiting. Not usually a lot of waiting, working for Torchwood. Not since I've been out of the Tourist Office, at least. Well, yeah, there's when it's slow and we're waiting for Rift activity, but once there's something to do, we do it. We don't sit around in uncomfortable plastic chairs strung together in rows, with immovable armrests so you can't even lie down after spending all night planning and packing for a trip to the other side of the world for a reason you can only guess at. (Looking back at what I've just written, I must be tired. Went and ended that sentence with a preposition.)

Now that there's time I should start over, where I left off yesterday. So looking back, last I wrote, Gwen had just had her rather one-sided conversation with Harold Saxon, Minister of Defence, and future Prime Minister (probably.) It actually took three cups of tea before she was able to talk about it (and stop blushing over what she'd said to his secretary.) Not quite sure how, as we're supposed to be 'outside the government' and all, but Saxon's decided to send us on a mission. And as Gwen has already said we'd go, I guess we go. Anyway, the mission… The Himalayas. We're to go to the Himalayas. So that brings us to the details of the mission: well there aren't any, are there? No details, whatsoever. Hello? Have you got any details? Nope. What do you need details for anyway? Off you go… That's what's got me most confused. The absolute lack of information. What's the threat? What's the rush? What are we up against? Any special weapons? (Or shall we just defend the planet from whatever alien attackers we come across with a pointy stick?) Jack wouldn't have had us head out like this, unsure just what it is that we're supposed to be doing. He'd have asked all the right questions, demanded the right answers. One rather vital question that seems to currently be going unanswered… where exactly, are we going in the Himalayas? It's not like they're small or anything. As it stands, we have a flight to Lhasa, and a hotel for the first night. After that… who knows? Certainly not me. Saxon's people have arranged the flight, but not much else. I've had to see to getting our equipment packed and shipped. There was too much to do. Simply too much. Gwen was on the phone with Rhys most of the evening, and while I didn't envy her that conversation, there really were more pressing matters. No time for anyone to go home and pack last night (not that anyone else had proper sub-zero, mountain trekking clothes in their wardrobes anyway,) that left me at the local sports shop buying everything new. (Don't know how that Wales National rugby shirt got mixed-in with all the rest of the necessary purchases, but as it's just my size, I'm keeping it. I'll reimburse Torchwood for it when, or if, we get back.) I've arranged for cold-weather camping gear and other necessary supplies to be rented and ready for us in Lhasa (what is it with Torchwood and camping?!?) So we only have to transport Tosh's tech kit and our packs (Gwen actually tried to debate me when I got back from the sports shop. Said she always uses 'wheelie' suitcases when she travels. Gwen, my dear, have you ever even seen a picture of the Himalayas? Not exactly conducive to 'wheelie' cases.) Too bad we can't take the SUV, but it's just too much of a paperwork and time-table headache (and I've enough of those already.) But still, the idea of Torchwood in a rental car… Would you like the optional CDW? Uhhh, yep, think that'd be wise. And about paperwork… Have we even got the proper clearances? Hate to be driving along some treacherous mountain road in our rental car and get blown-up by the Chinese military 'cause we'd crossed into some disputed zone that wasn't on the map they gave us at the rental desk. We're just going to have to get all that sorted when we get there. The details are to be sent to us in a packet, via courier. When we arrive at our hotel, we should find out why, exactly, we're even there. Really hope it isn't something ridiculous, like pick out an anniversary present for Mrs. Saxon.

So in any case, what it all comes down to, is since Gwen hadn't asked the questions and Saxon hadn't volunteered any kind of helpful, pertinent information, that left me to deal with all those questions that could be answered, those of a normal, logistical sort. Important bits and pieces that only I seemed to consider important... such as: Is anyone going to notice the Tourist Office closed for so long? Should we put a note on the answer-phone message and e-mail auto-reply? What if the Rift and/or weevils get active while we're away? Should I put a hold on the mail? But most of all, who'll feed the pterodactyl? Not like there are a whole lot of pet sitting agencies in the phone book that specialize in pterosaurs. Finally decided to let him loose with a radio collar, to hunt for himself for a while. (Hope he behaves himself while we're gone.)

After about two hours sleep in the hub last night for everyone, we finished the last minute details and drove to London. What a sight we must have been, jammed in the SUV, bags tied on the roof. Really must've looked like we were headed out on a family vacation. We arrived at Heathrow and I dropped everyone at check-in and took the SUV to long-term parking. For some reason, that term made me shudder: long-term parking. Don't really know why, it just felt… wrong. Anyway, met-up with everyone else again (they hadn't gotten very far in the queue, but that's apparently because Owen had gotten them in the wrong queue.) Once we had moved all our gear to the right place, and we picked-up our tickets, discovered that Mr. Saxon (or at least whoever books travel arrangements for him) really must hate us. They had us booked on a flight where we'd have to change planes five times. Five times. And, as if that weren't bad enough, total flight time: 47 hours, 45 minutes. Two days? On an airplane for two complete days? On an airplane with my co-workers for two complete consecutive days? On an airplane for two complete, consecutive, coach-class days without a shower? If we headed for the Chunnel, the speed he goes, I think Owen could drive us to Tibet in two days. Needless to say, I've had a little talk with the woman at the counter. Thanks to Ms. Lee, We're down to two plane changes, 22 and a half hours, and she's working on moving-us up to business class.

Another chat at the counter. Once Ms. Lee… Cho, heard that we we're all business associates traveling together, that Gwen was engaged, and that Tosh had a crush on Owen, and that I wasn't seeing anyone on a regular basis at the moment, we suddenly found ourselves re-booked into first class. Apparently, I also have a date with Ms. Lee for sometime after our return to London. Don't know quite how that happened. She does seem very nice. Really not sure how that happened, but I said okay. Anyway, as it was a last minute change in flights and all, we're not sitting all together. Two up front and two in the last row. Really don't see an issue, but it's just like a road trip in the SUV. In any case, when I came back from the shop with the coffee, they were still 'discussing' who would sit where. Which is exactly what I thought they'd be doing, and exactly why I brought the coffee stir-sticks, two short and two long. Gwen and Owen drew long. That left Tosh and I together. Sorted.

An hour, or so, into the flight Owen came back and asked to switch seats. Apparently he'd reached his endurance limit of Gwen's wedding plans, and additionally, they'd gotten into another argument. Tosh agreed to switch with him as a strange looking bloke sitting across the aisle kept looking at her. As Tosh got up, Owen whispered something to her that made her laugh. I will choose to assume that it wasn't about me.

Owen, for some absolutely unknown reason, seems determined to read my diary, over time this trip could prove challenging. As he is currently in the galley, chatting-up the fight attendants, suppose it's safe to write. Even though we were room-mates for a while and have managed to get along, this flight we seem to have gotten along amazingly well… so far. Nothing I've said has prompted a scathingly sarcastic attack. Only a handful of months back, Owen always seemed primed to cut me down, any chance he got. Now however, feels different. As if something, a block or barrier, had been removed from between him and me, and we don't need to be aggressive… or defensive, anymore. (That having been committed to paper, it will surely change again dramatically and one of us will be forced to shoot the other. And to top it all off, I'm sure Owen will truly believe it's my turn to be shot.) In any case, we've spent the last few hours talking movies, sport, and the like. Asked him what he and Gwen had been arguing about earlier. His response? Whether Latveria is a real country or not. Latveria… like where Dr. Doom came from in The Fantastic Four? Owen said that he 'Had her pretty much convinced in the end.' I asked him if that's what he whispered to Tosh, to have her tell Gwen that it was real. He'd just smiled that smile that makes him look just a little too much like a smug rodent.

Met Gwen in line for the lavatories. She asked me about Latveria. Told her of course it's real, that I'd gone there years ago on a school trip, and that she should consider it for her honeymoon.

The hamsters are getting restless. Still not sure it was the best idea bringing them along. But what else could I have done? Otherwise what would happen to my needy little space hamsters… if something happened to us in the Himalayas? So as it now stands, they're trying to get my attention again, shaking their dog-carrier under my seat. I've told the flight attendant, Ming-Li, that they're a rare breed of puppy: the Tijuana Sapphire Chihuahua. Now she wants one of her own, as she often gets quite lonesome when she's at home, all alone. She must have had her heart set on it as she seemed sad when I told her she might have a little trouble locating one. Told her that any rescue organization could help her find a good puppy. After she left Owen just stared at me and told me I was thick. Still don't get what he was on about. Anyway, the head Chihuahua, Nash is reaching through the bars, trying to get my attention, to talk to me. Think from what he's signing, he's asking for some carrots. Either that or he wants to fly the plane. He'll have to settle for the carrots.

* * *

Actually got a couple hours of sleep (even with Owen's snoring.) Tosh was just back for a bit of a chat. Seems she's spent most of the flight with a sleep mask on and her I-pod turned-up. Rather like a North American opossum, when cornered: curl-up and play dead. Seems that without anyone to weary with wedding talk, Gwen's spent most of the flight reading bridal magazines. Tosh said that Gwen had tried to talk to some of the flight attendants about her wedding plans, but they'd managed to get away with excuses of 'Have to serve drinks,' 'I'm a widow,' and 'I'm a lesbian and marriage is another way men control women.' And the attendants haven't been back 'round their seats since. Okay, starting to feel sorry for Gwen. Think I'll go sit with her for a bit.

Sat with Gwen and looked through the magazines with her. She had her eye on a dress that was just not suited to her frame. Think I've talked her out of it and into something much more fitted, and much more fitting. In any case, I think that Tosh was just joking about the flight attendants. They were around quite a bit while I was there.

After what was described to us as 'breakfast,' I've been playing '6 Degrees of Kevin Bacon' with Owen. After one round he's disappeared up to the front. Either he's escaping me, or he's confirming something with Tosh. (Or he's cheating.) In any case, I've gotten more carrots for the hamsters and have had a few myself.

He came back, but after each round of the game, Owen disappeared again. By the time we were ready to be done, Owen told me that he had, in fact, checked my chain of answers with Tosh and Gwen. He also said that the very first time he'd gone up, Tosh had told him he didn't stand a chance against me, and that next time he'll take notice of what she has to say. Owen seemed genuinely surprised when the pilot announced we were beginning our final descent.

Of course, that was just the first flight. We're now in Hong Kong with an hour wait. Too bad we can't take a look around. The city looked amazing as we were landing, with all the islands around it. Still, don't get much time to see the sights when you're on an official mission to who knows where to do who knows what. The planes get smaller from here on out.

The flight from Hong Kong was fine and uneventful. This last plane, however, is something to see. Well, I say something to see… mainly because it certainly isn't something to fly. Small doesn't even begin to do it justice. Neither does ancient, dilapidated, or malodorous. As it was a rather undersized airport as well, I was able to oversee that all of our gear had made it and was loaded on our 'plane.' As nerve-wracking as the thought of flying in that crate is, have to admit I find the sight of all Torchwood's cutting edge, top-secret, and sometimes alien, technical gear being loaded next to a crate of goats, somewhat hilarious. In any case, they're calling our flight now. At least I think they're calling our flight. There's a prehistoric little man waving at us and pointing to the plane. Various prayers are going through my head, but none seem sufficient.

Brilliant. The prehistoric little man was, in fact, waving us to the plane. His plane. He's the pilot. I kid you not, the guy comes-up to Tosh's shoulder, maybe. I'm imagining wood blocks tied to the pedals so his legs can reach. Even the hamsters seem tense. Owen's got his eyes closed, Gwen looks green and Tosh is back under her sleep-mask and earphones.

To be fair, the flight was smoother than any of us would have guessed it could have been. (Note how I waited until we were on the ground again, before writing that.) In any case, the team and all the gear have made it to the hotel intact. It's been a long trip and I really won't be long out of bed tonight.

* * *

After all her sleeping on the plane, Tosh couldn't sleep last night. As such, I couldn't sleep either. No, I don't mind playing cards with you, Tosh… all night. Well, at least I was already up this morning, when the farmer's market started setting-up outside my window at 5a.m. Got supplies. Don't know where we're going, but we're well supplied. Just realized, with the altitude and the lack of sleep, thought I'd be in a right state this morning, but I actually feel better than I have in a very long time. The headache is at the most minimal level it's been in months. Not even the smell of the llamas tied to the reception desk made me feel ill.

After getting set to head out somewhere, this morning, we sat down to breakfast in what the hotel is calling the 'café.' (Shouldn't be allowed to be called that, given the state of their coffee.) That was the time that Owen finally thought to ask about weapons. Gwen did that bug-eyed look of hers and Tosh actually felt for her missing holster. All the way to Tibet and this is the first time they realized that the airlines wouldn't allow guns on the plane, even for Torchwood? Whatever would they do without me? Had that sorted even before we'd left Cardiff. Now, if we could only find-out why we're here.

The courier has finally arrived and I've read over the briefing material. If anyone were to ask me, it all seems a bit of a wild-goose chase. But at least we have some idea where we're going now, even if it is still just a somewhat vague idea. The question still remains, even if he is about to be Prime Minister, why in the world has Harold Saxon sent us to find the lost city of Shangri-La? And why the rush? Of all things, why has Torchwood been sent to look for Utopia?


	21. Lost Horizon

Finally managed to locate some bottled water for the team in this wonderfully cosmopolitan capital city. 'Thanks, Gunga Din,' was Owen's typically Owen reaction. Just my job as regimental water beastie. 'No, but really. You don't need to do this anymore, Ianto. You don't need to fetch us drinks or what not.' Was his not so typically Owen response this time. If I don't, who will? 'Well… probably no one… Helpless gits. We'd probably all die of thirst and all, I'm just saying…' I know what you're saying. Thanks. Owen just nodded once and left, clearly embarrassed by this outburst of emotion. He was back a minute later for the bottle of water.

So now we're all ready to head out… that's it, is it? Go to Tibet and find Shangri-La. Simple. Well if it really were that simple, people'd be doing it all the time. Someone would have built an all-inclusive resort, a spa. So why haven't they? Could it be because it's a myth? Doesn't exist? In any case, why the rush? The myth's been around for years (thus the whole 'myth' status and not just book-of the-month standing.) So, it comes down to the question: does Harold Saxon want us out of the way for some reason? Or is he just plain crazy as a hatter? Rest of the team thinks I'm being paranoid. They're all choosing to assume that there's something to this 'mission.' Exactly what, we'll just have to wait and see. So until then, here we are in a rather cramped rental vehicle, heading up into the misty heights of the Himalayan Mountains. Owen is driving and the rest of us are trying not to look at how close the tyres are coming to the edge of the road (and thus, the edge of the mountain, and further thus, the edge of our very lives.) Tosh is up front, scanning (hilarious, considering that we have no real idea why we're here, let alone for what we should be scanning. But at least she's up next to Owen, so she's happy.) That leaves Gwen and I squashed in the back with our guide with an unpronounceable name. We're calling him Phil. Phil is a little on the creepy side. He has a tattoo that's just barely visible under his collar. Get the distinct impression that seeing the rest of the tattoo would make me glad it keeps itself hidden. He looks at you only when he thinks you're not looking back. While his English is understandable, there's something about him that makes me feel there's more he isn't saying, a lot more. (And that it's probably all things we wouldn't be happy about hearing, anyway.)

Stopped for lunch on the road. Wasn't much, just sandwiches and a thermos or two of coffee, but it was nice to stretch for a bit. Owen asked me, 'You're never going to stop this, are you?' Stop what? 'Fetching drinks and food… looking after us.' Nope. Can't have you all getting de-hydrated, dropping dead and the like. It's not proper. Just not done. Besides, if I let you all fend for yourselves and you did drop dead, who'd be left to save the world? Anyway, it's already getting colder than I think I've ever been in my life. Shudder (quite literally) at the thought of how it'll be, further up. The hamsters in their dog kennel are doing fine and enjoyed their lunch as well. They say they like the cold air, and the scarf I put in with them is 'warm and snuggly.' Gwen was complaining that the scenery was all starting to look the same and she was getting bored. Mentioned to her that it's coming-up on time for annual employee reviews, she could always start working on those. She got that bug-eyed look of her's and said she didn't want to do them. Told her she had to, pay raises depend on it. She asked me to do them, or have everyone write their own. Told her she's our leader, she can do this. Just to be honest. Really, is there anything THAT negative to say about anyone? (Aside, maybe, from Owen shooting Jack, us all opening the Rift, Tosh and her pendant-alien girlfriend, not to mention that whole Cyber-basement thing of mine.) On second thought, maybe I should have taken her up on her offer to let me write my own. Think we're probably getting back on the road (well, 'road' being a relative term) in a few minutes, so I'd better get the lunch-things packed-up.

Phil was sorting around in the back of the SUV, right near the hamster carrier, until he saw me watching him. Then he ducked away. Really have a bad feeling about this guy. Finally figured-out who he reminds me of… that guide in the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Ark. So, later on, if he betrays us and we find him stuck to a wall with spears poking through his head, I'm on the next flight to Cardiff.

The landscape is changing steadily as we ascend. Phil says that where the road ends, so does the day. While at face value, that could just be a way of saying he isn't sure in miles or kilometers, from him it sounds much more ominous. Get the sense the others are finally starting to see what I mean about the guy. Just plain creepy. Wonder if he's a caretaker somewhere… when there aren't tourists in need of an escort. In any case, crammed in the back as we were, Gwen and I started-up a chorus of "Are we there yet?" just to annoy Owen. It worked.

We've made it to the end of the first day and despite Owen's mountain driving skills, we're all still intact. Our creepy guide was right; the road did end just before the day was ending. What he failed to mention, however, was that the road ends where there used to be a bridge. Bit of a plunge there. Luckily, Owen had managed to see it and slam on the brakes just in time (or more to the point, luckily Tosh looked-up and screamed, causing Owen to do the aforementioned actions.) In any case, we're here now. This is where we set a base camp for tonight, and it is from here, that tomorrow we'll set out on foot. Just keeps getting better and better. Brilliant.

Phil says he doesn't read or write English, but I've found him with my diary. Hope he got to the part about spears through his head.

Splitting up to explore around the new camp area, Tosh asked me to help her out with some scans. Owen negated that, saying, 'Nah, Tosh. Ianto's on my team.' Team Owen was apparently responsible for gathering firewood. But at least it was nice to feel wanted, fought over. And speaking about feeling wanted, at least I've spent an entire day without thinking about Jack. (That one doesn't count.)

The cold here… I finally understand what people mean when they say chilled to the bone. The sun has been down a while now, and there is nothing to suggest that it had ever been here, or that it will ever return. The cold and the dark, it's like they combine, make things worse than either alone. All I want to do here is sleep.

As we sat around the fire after dinner, Tosh and Owen got into an argument over who is more observant/detail oriented. They took turns asking questions, trying to 'stump' the other, the prize-winner receiving the last of the cookies. Tosh asked what colour was Jack's coffee mug (ouch, more thoughts of him, but not my fault.) Owen answered: 'White. No… blue.' Tosh: 'Well, which one is it?' Owen: 'Oi! It's a trick question, isn't it? Its stripes. Hah! Okay, my turn. How many stripes?' Tosh: 'You're kidding. Who on Earth would know that?' Seven, I tell them. Four blue and three white. Wasn't looking at them, but I could tell they were all staring at me. That's when Owen asked how I would know that? Was there something going on between Jack and myself? Between Jack and me? No, there's nothing. Making coffee… I just stare at the mugs too much. Gwen has 18 stripes. Owen: 'Sad, Ianto. You lead a sad, sad life.' You don't have to tell me. But, there is one bright spot in the darkness that is my life. Owen: 'And that is what, precisely?' I win. I get the last cookie.

Gwen asked me if there really were 18 stripes on her mug. No idea, but at least I stopped the argument. And I really wanted the cookie.

Creepy Phil is off in his own little tent, for which I am immeasurably glad. Tosh asked if we should invite him to sit with us. Three voices in unison answered a resounding: No. The conversation eventually turned to tattoos. Gwen wondered if Jack had any… anywhere. Said "No" before I'd even thought. Think I followed quickly enough with a plausible justification for my rapid answer: if you we're to live forever, would you go putting permanent marks on yourself? They seemed to agree and the conversation moved-on. At least I know now, that Jack and Gwen had never…

* * *

Early morning in the Himalayas is colder than late night. The sun has come-up again, but begrudgingly, it would seem. It's not making things any warmer. Regardless how it may sound to the others, I'm going to suggest that the four of us share one tent from here on in (If it gets any colder, may even suggest four of us in one sleeping bag.) Really couldn't be sure it'd make a difference anyway. Just too cold. Feeling more than a little out of my element here. And I don't like it, not at all. Never liked camping.

Back in Lhasa, when she couldn't sleep, Tosh had borrowed my book (and when that hadn't worked to cure her insomnia, she'd borrowed my cards… and me) in any case, appears she's left my book back at the hotel. (Now I'll never find out if Frodo can ever destroy the One Ring.) So, for the rest of the trip, that only leaves me my Selected Poems of Dylan Thomas. Owen keeps threatening to use it as a fire-starter (apparently not a fan of D.T.) in response, told him Gwen's asked me to write his yearly performance review. He just scoffed and said a few expletives in a generally negative context. Think he asked Gwen about it later, while I can't be sure what she said, he hasn't threatened to burn my book since.

Put on another layer under my anorak. Think that must be an even dozen by now, but I'm still cold. When I came out of the tent again, Owen just laughed and asked if I'd brought along anything I wasn't currently wearing. I said yes, but as soon as I figured-out how to put it on, I'd be wearing the coffeepot as well. Really still don't like camping. I stood there, arms held-out by the layers of clothes, "I can't put my arms down!" Gwen burst out with a peel of laughter and asked if she should triple-dog-dare Owen to touch his tongue to a metal flag-post. Sure Gwen, if you've got any idea where to find one out here. Suppose I should document, this was the first movie reference Gwen has recognized… ever. We're proud of you, Boss. No, really.

Packed-up the part of camp that's coming with us, leaving some of the heavier items behind with the vehicle. A consensus has been reached, one tent from now on for the four of us (Sorry Phil, creepy tattoos in a tent of their own. It's not that cold.) A few miles from where we had spent the night, we've met-up with the rental llamas we arranged for in Lhasa. Wonder if CDW insurance is available on pack-animals. In any case, at least they make it easier to haul the equipment. Why does it all have to be uphill?

As I've had some time to think, hiking through this untracked frozen hell (that is my life as well as the landscape) I think sorting out how I feel isn't as complicated as it seemed back home. Jack is gone and there's nothing I can do about that. He's gone and I still love him. Also really nothing I can do about that. (As D.T. wrote: 'Though lovers be lost love shall not,') But in the midst of it all, I can't be lost, myself. Think I did, for a while, loose myself. Lost in Jack. And it was wonderful, but it was also sad and a little lonely. For a while, after Lisa, I existed only as a part of him, it was easier that way. Might be there still (and still happy) if he'd been at least a little committed, if he'd been interested enough in me, enough to stay. But I seemed to be a part of him that he could live without.

'I have been told to reason by the heart

But heart, like head, leads helplessly

I have been told to reason by the pulse,

And when it quickens, alter the action's pace.'

Think maybe it's time for a change of pace. One things for sure, Jack had a way of quickening my pulse. If it is true, what they say, if it really is darkest just before the dawn… as dark as I've felt, as of late, I'm due for one hell of a sunrise. On the bright side, found I've quite a talent for being able to write while wearing ski gloves. While not the most brilliant of talents in South Wales, it has saved me from some rather illegible diary entries (or at least frost-bite.)

Stopping only for short breaks and a short lunch, we've spent the day on the trail. That's a problem here, you're tired and want to rest, but if you sit down, you immediately feel colder. Get up, move-around, build-up body heat, and you might as well have just kept hiking. This is all a metaphor, isn't it?

We've made it to our second camp, but there is no joy… as we have experienced a tragic loss. Can hardly bring myself to write about it, even now. As we traversed the steep and winding trail, the ravine fell away to our right, dropping steeply and quickly into the misted depths below. Owen, flustered by his ever-spitting llama, yelled, startling it. The frightened creature backed away from him and into the one Gwen was leading, which in its own turn, stumbled and almost fell. Its pack, twisted by the encounter, shifted and opened, spilling its contents down into the bottomless crevice. Was it the food? The water? Tosh's tech kit? If only. No, it was something more vital to the Torchwood mission, more tragic. How can we bear this devastating loss and not turn back? Gwen and Owen are still arguing who is responsible for the loss of the expedition's entire supply of coffee.

Phil tells us that tomorrow we'll reach a village where we will be welcomed for the night. Somehow, when he says it, 'welcomed' sounds ominous. In any case, the thought of sleeping in something other than a tent does hold some amount of appeal.

* * *

We're up in the clouds and mist completely now. It makes for a foggy-grayness that reminds me of mornings back home. Can't see that we're up on a mountain anymore. All perspective and relationship seems lost. There is nothing in the distance to see, only what's in front of me. There's no sunrise, only a hazy glow marks the horizon. The Lost Horizon. Lost in thoughts of old movies. Think it's the one I remember. Find Shangri-La, find love, but you can never leave… (No wait, isn't that Hotel California?) In any case, makes me wonder, would it be worth staying? Stupid question. Of course it would. I would.

Maybe it's the old paranoia again, but I don't think that's it. The others seem to have been discussing me while I was out gathering firewood this morning. They stopped talking as soon as they saw me. Tosh started moaning about all the work she could be getting done if we we're back in Cardiff, 'bout how that Rift predictor program won't write itself. Seemed a little like one of those 'Shhhh, there he is, talk about something else' moments. Then again, maybe it's just a lack of caffeine. Owen and Gwen seemed desperate to get me to promise that I'd find some coffee for them. Not just that I'd get them the coffee, but that I'd specifically 'promise' to do it. Don't make promises I can't keep. I can't guarantee coffee here. Seems Tosh understands that… unless her 'Told you!' was in regards to something else. Could very well just be the altitude messing with everyone's heads, mine included. Hey at least there's still no real appreciable headache! (For a want of anything better, they should put that on the brochures: Come to Tibet, it'll help your headache.)

We've arrived at the village, the people we're very friendly, right off. Must not get a lot of excitement, if a handful of travelers illicit such a response. Several young girls latched-on to me within moments. They seem to like stroking me. Strange local custom? One of them looks a bit like Alesha. After a little while, the girls' mothers arrived and have been trying to feed me. Overheard Owen complaining to Tosh that he never gets welcomed like that. Almost told him it's the snarl he does, but thought it better to just let it go. Found that with the locals, just a little smile and they start to coo and grin. Must be a Tibetan thing.


	22. Solo

I checked. There's no coffee. Anywhere. Their expressions of disappointment were exactly as I'd anticipated. The anguished cry of, 'Nooooo!' from Owen was admittedly a little surprising. When I presented the hot chocolate I'd made instead, I hoped they'd be pleased, or at least placated. The hugs I received seemed to suggest that they were. Once again surprising: the first hug was from Owen.

The villagers have been very accommodating. We have a nice little 'house' right in the middle of the community. And for once, I didn't have to cook. And for once, I wish I had to cook. I'm sure it's just a cultural thing, but it really didn't even look like food. Owen just toyed with his. When Tosh reminded him that people nearby were starving, he tried to hand her the bowl, 'Here, send them this, with my complements.' Got some of the spices I'd bought that first morning at the Lhasa market. Not sure what the spices were, exactly, but since I'm also not sure what the meat was either… in the end, at least everyone ate.

Must be a Tibetan thing: invite people into your home, feed them some sort of 'food,' and then tell them horror stories that would make Stephen King cry. The tales they told around the fire tonight… as I'm really not liking Phil, I'd like to blame it on his translation. I'd like to think that he altered their words, added the terror and the repulsion. His expression, however, seemed to indicate otherwise. They told us of those who wandered too far from the safety of the fire, tales of family lost, of remains found, and those never seen again. Stories of the creatures that roam the forests, laying claim to the snowy heights above, and warnings of what happened to those unfortunate enough to cross them. Good night, everyone. Sleep well.

* * *

Phil assures us that this was the last 'civilization' we'd see. (I'd like to think he meant until our return journey.) In any case, the villagers seemed sad to see us go, and I was sad to leave the relative warmth of their homes. Seems that every time I'm sure it's as cold as it can possibly get, the next morning dawns at a new low. (This all really has to be just a metaphor. I understand that. Can we go home now?)

More hiking. More snow. More mountain.

We've made it to what should be our furthest point, our highest camp. A point on the mountain where it seems the world has just come to an end… Okay, the way Owen was screaming my name just now, thought we'd been invaded, that he was being attacked by the creatures from the villagers' stories. Turns out he couldn't find a toilet roll. Guess it was an emergency of sorts, from his perspective… Anyway, as I was saying… this is the point from which research suggests we have our best shot at finding Shangri-La. Not a moment too soon. Everyone seems so drained by this whole experience. We're all just waiting for it to end.

Gwen was going on and on, as she occasionally will, about how Torchwood's first priority needs to be adjusted, to take a more humane view of victims of the Rift. Her sermon was stretching on a bit. Couldn't help it… hit her square in the back of the head with a snowball. When she spun around I assumed my most innocent expression and surreptitiously pointed blame at Owen. She let out a little yelp and crouched down to make her own snowball. Standing and lobbing it in one swift motion, she caught Owen right in the face. Never one to turn the other cheek, Owen retaliated. As with all conflicts of global significance, I too was soon drawn into the melee by a stray missile. Thus began Torchwood's most epic battle to date. Tosh was foolish (naïve) enough to believe she'd be safe behind her camera; she tried to maintain neutrality, like some kind of war correspondent… or the Swiss. Owen eventually bombarded her with a rain of snowballs, and with a little shriek, Tosh joined in as well. I did eventually sneak out of the trenches to make some hot chocolate, the ender of all conflict. Soon we were gathered 'round the fire with our steaming mugs, laughing about the recent battle, trading war stories, 'Did you see that one that got Tosh in the ear?' 'No, I was too busy laughing at that one that hit you in the crotch.' After a while I could see the conversation circling back to how the whole thing had started. As such, I diverted attention by starting to build a snowman. After a few typically Owen attempts to turn it into a snow-woman, it was finally complete. When it was done, our creepy mountain guide snapped a picture of the team gathered around our newest team member: Frosti Glaceau. A perfect picture for Torchwood's next Christmas card… if Torchwood sent Christmas cards. Just after the picture, Gwen whispered 'I know you started it. You threw that first snowball," and smacked me on the arse. Thought about telling her that's harassment, but that phrase will always be reserved just for Jack.

* * *

Last night was the coldest yet. I really, really, (no, really) am beginning to dislike this place. Strange dreams here. (Not quite as strange as the screaming shoes, but it's getting there.) Something between dream and nightmare. Can't quite remember the details, which is probably a good thing. So last night, couldn't tell if it was part of the dream or not, there was a sound… or a lack of sound… I think I woke-up. Everyone else was asleep, curled-up together. Tosh was snoring like a motor-boat (who would have thought?) Had the urge to look out of the tent, but also the urge to climb back under the covers (for the warmth, the cuddle, or maybe from the fear.) The sound or the silence made me choose and I hazarded a look through the tent-flap. The dead of night (always a rather pessimistic phrase.) The only illumination was from the stars and a few stubborn campfire embers. I'd just given-in to the realization that there was nothing there, when a dark form caught my attention. I squinted and stared at it, willing it to become clearer in the starlight. I felt my shoulders relax and my eyes roll at the ridiculousness of my own fears a moment before my consciousness realized as well, it was just Frosti, the Torchwood snowman, standing guard. All was well and I fumbled for the tent-flap zipper, thinking how nice it would be to crawl back into bed (well, 'bed' being a relative term.) Just as the zip was nearing its end, I glanced back out at Frosti. This is the part where I really must have been dreaming; as I'm quite sure I caught just the edge of movement, as if Frosti's shadow had a mind of its own and had decided to depart on its own, to go for a midnight stroll. A trick of the light, as it were… if there'd been any light. I looked again and in the silver-grey of night, Frosti had no shadow. I went back to bed. Now the sun has come up, the temperature has gone down, and I'm waiting for the pancakes to cook (as it is, the top of the batter is starting to freeze before they're ready to flip.) If everyone doesn't hurry themselves up and get out of the tent, there're going to have frozen Frisbees instead of breakfast.

The zipper-pull on my anorak has some brilliant, innovative features. One side has a thermometer. Unfortunately, it only goes to 20 below. Not much use anymore. The other side has a compass. Once it dropped lower than 20 below, the compass froze solid. At least its third feature still works, but as my anorak is already zipped as high as it will go… as I said, brilliant.

I can see it, a storm on the horizon. Hell, it's Torchwood, there's always a storm on the horizon. But this is an actual storm with (more) snow and (more) ice and (more) cold. Not exactly news around here. Surprised the ink hasn't frozen in my pen…Yet. I was talking with Owen earlier, about Saxon and the direction he'll take the country, assuming the election has gone the way we assume it will (has Election Day passed? That's not like me, not to know what day it is. I always know what day it is. Have to get off this mountain.) Where was I? Ah, yes, the most cogent argument Owen could offer was 'Saxon's good, he'll do good.' Well, that's… good, I suppose. On the other hand, can't help but think of D.T.'s line: 'Mister and master, darkness for his eyes.' When I told Owen, he said I was daft and Saxon's good. Need to get that man a thesaurus.

Since half my reading material for this trip has been 'misplaced,' and there's only so much Dylan Thomas I can do at a time, I've been skimming my diary. More specifically, the entries that have been about Jack. There's a conclusion that can be drawn: next time needs to be different. (And there will be a next time. Jack Harkness Will Not Be The Last Person I L… care for.) Won't allow myself to be held in such awe, so taken-in by the dynamic… magnetism of my partner. Next time, I will be a partner. Not a side-kick and not a part-time shag. Not again.

Phil has disappeared this afternoon. Gwen, Tosh and Owen have gone to look for him. That leaves me to watch the camp (just like old times.) At least now, they asked me if I'd stay behind, rather than just head off without me. Think it has more to do with the approach of dinnertime than anything else. They've been gone a while now. It's rapidly getting dark and cold(er.) Did I mention we're rather low on firewood? (Owen's turn to gather, but he's spent most of his time arguing with Gwen, instead. What? Couldn't they argue and pick-up wood at the same time? Multi-tasking.) So, here I am, all alone in the mountain forest, surrounded by increasingly menacing noises, no sign of the others. The goulash is simmering… did I mention the noises in the dark? At least th

Well, by the very fact that the above wasn't my last diary entry… ever, one could rightly assume that I'm not dead… yet. There I was at camp, by the dwindling fire, stirring dinner, the noises surrounding me drawing ever closer. Then there was an absolute silence, a mute button for the world. A flash of light that I think only occurred in my own head, in conjunction with a searing pain, and I was across camp, sprawled in… on top… crushing our tent. The last thing I recall was an image of the space hamsters, clustered at the door of their carrier, watching me with open mouths and terror in their eyes. At first I thought something had a hold of their carrier, was dragging them away. I reached-out to them and I realized they were stationary. It was I who was being dragged. Couldn't be sure if I heard a sound, a guttural growl, but that was when the world around me went black.

So that leaves me here, all alone, where I woke-up sometime later. Can't say where here is, but it's definitely upside down. Okay, to be fair, I'm the one upside down, hung from the ceiling by my increasingly aching ankles. The blood is really starting to rush to my head, and I must say it's all becoming rather unpleasant. Can swing back and forth a bit, but it hasn't seemed to loosen the bonds. Has however, seemed to aggravate the pain. Headache and that searing pain in my neck and shoulder. There's a warmth there, edged with cold. I think I'm bleeding. Not much mobility, aside from reaching my diary and a pen from my anorak pocket, I'm just stuck here… hanging around. If I bothered to write THAT, I may well be going into shock as well. Brilliant.

Suppose if I'm done, I should leave some last notes for the Torchwood team. Assuming that A) You ever find my body, B) You find my diary as well, and C) You bother to read it. Anyway, please check the computer file coded: ijones19081983b. There are some things, important things that need attention. All the information needed is there. So that just leaves…

Gwen: You're doing a fine job as leader… know when it's okay to follow.

Tosh: You're sweet… and the strongest person I've ever known. Promise me you'll finally tell him how you feel.

Owen: Don't know what to say. I think you know… Use the recycle bins, you obnoxious git.

And, in the one-in-a-billion off-chance that Jack ever comes back: You broke my heart… but as you were the one who made me realize what it was for in the first place, I guess we're even.

It's been at least an hour since I woke up the first time. Think I may have blacked-out at some point as I appear to have dropped my pen. Good thing I always carry a spare. Anyway… just realized how much I must look like Luke Skywalker in The Empire Strikes Back. (Never really cared much for Luke. Han Solo was always much more interesting. Rogue, bad-boy… setting his own rules. So everything I'm not. Sounds familiar…) Hope whatever has me isn't anything like what had Luke… Whampa was it? Something of that sort: big, hairy, with tusks. With my luck, it'll definitely be something just like that. Couldn't, just once, be a horde of lovely Tibetan women? (If it is, it'll likely end up being hairy Tibetan women…with tusks.) So is this how it ends? Really? Alone- no surprise there… in the snow- okay, minor surprise… hamsters- really wasn't expecting that at all.

So there I was, trying to think up some noble last words (that no one would probably ever read anyway) when I see my heroic saviors, in all their furry glory. Once they'd found a way to reach my feet, didn't take them long to chew through the ice and whatever else was binding my feet to the roof. After I hit the frozen floor (and regained consciousness… again,) I got the hamsters into my anorak (regardless of their claims to like the cold, I could see them shivering) and we made our way out of the cave.

There was a dim light on the horizon, just a faint glow. Since my watch seems to have been lost somewhere along the way, came to realize I don't know if it's the beginning of dawn, or the end of dusk. 'Dark is a way and light is a place.' Great Jones, injured, abducted, freezing and lost, and you're sitting here quoting Dylan Thomas again. Could you be any bloody more Welsh? In any case, it's still dark, decidedly well below zero, and we're sitting not far outside the lair of my abductors. Every time I stand, I fall back down. The snow had mounted during my captivity. At some point it had stopped for a while as I could see the tiny footprints left by the hamsters on their quest to rescue me. I had been back-tracking the trail of tiny marks, but the footprints disappeared in an instant, as the snow has just started to fall yet again. Have to move, get the hamsters back to camp, to the team. I stand and I fall as the world spins.

Regained consciousness again and set out through the thigh-high snow. It was difficult to walk, but the now deepened snow kept me generally upright. Moved as far from the cave as I could. Can only hope and pray that it's far enough. It'll have to be… good enough. It's all I can manage. 'I advance for as far as forever is…' Great. More D.T. Not sure if it's the temperature, another concussion, loss of blood, or something else, but I'm fighting the sleep. The sleep seems to be winning. Know full well that sleep probably means death, but I can't fight it anymore. If I sleep, I die. Simple. I like things simple. So cold I can't feel it if I pinch myself. Maybe it's all dreaming. Will I wake up back home, next to Jack? Or was that the dream and this my reality? Have to stay alive, stay awake, stay alive. Sleep is death. Eyes have other ideas. Stay awake. I wonder if in death I'll dream of Jack…

Hello. Once again the little fur-balls have saved my life. Could have found a less painful method, but I'm not complaining (really) 'cause it's worked. Every time I succumbed to sleep, Nash bit me. Just a little nip, but enough to keep me awake. Hope he's current on all his shots. In any case, we've found a cliff face that's providing some little protection from the falling snow. Providing cover and a chance to rest. Nash is keeping his eye on me, making sure I don't need another nip. The other hamsters have scattered to who knows where. Beginning to realize, however, that I've lulled myself into an image of them that's less than they really are. Have to remind myself, they aren't helpless little animals. They've traveled the galaxy, set foot on distant worlds… more than I can say myself. I rarely get far out of Cardiff. Ah, life on Earth… Still, it's not without its perks. Such as… well… never mind.

So now I think we're ready to have another go at it. Rested a bit, feeling a little less light-headed. Just waiting for the last of the hamsters to return from wherever it was they went. Scouting? Reconnaissance? The loo? Another has just returned and Nash tells me that's the last of them. Do a quick count and I come-up one short. Nash disagrees, says that's his entire team. Guess he'd know. Just hate the thought of a little blue hamster wandering alone and forgotten. Tell Nash I could use five more minutes rest (just in case.)

The last hamster to check in had a good long 'talk' with Nash. All the while they both kept glancing excitedly back in the direction from which he'd come (north, I think.) Their gestures were small, even for a hamster. The equivalent of a hamster whisper? The whispers circulated round the whole group quickly, one of them letting out a tiny squeal at the news. Something electrifying, to hamsters at any rate. My five minutes are up and no more fur-balls emerged from the forest, so guess it's time to press on.

I'd asked Nash's opinion as to which direction camp might be. He signed that he wasn't sure, but felt it best if we maybe tried north. I'd had to stop myself from smiling at his space-hamster deception. Camp was west and we both knew it. The hamsters climbed back into the hood of my anorak and snuggled down as we headed off north. They'd saved my life; I was willing to make a detour for whatever had excited them so much. And that's where we are now. Once again, fate appears to have gotten it utterly wrong. Must be the last name. I'm Ianto Jones, not Indiana Jones. But there, facing me now is an ancient lock, like something from the movies. A giant wall of carved stone, but half the puzzle lies broken in pieces in the snow below, half frozen in prehistoric, undisturbed ice. The only part remaining intact is the place for the answer to the puzzle. So there before me, a puzzle with no question, no instruction, only a place for a solution. I've been staring at it for nearly an hour, maybe more. Much longer and I feel I'll become a part of it myself.

Just on the off chance… tried an answer to the puzzle without a question… the answer to all things: 42. Douglas Adams was either a genius, or an alien, maybe both. It opened. We're going in.

So there I stood… a jacket full of hamsters, at the entrance to a vast cavern. Hamster and man alike, stood there, staring up at the scale, the sheer enormity of the place. In the rock and ice: shapes and outcroppings... For all the world it looks like the inside view of a giant dragon's head. At the far end was a wall of ice, studded with glowing glittering jewels. (My luck, what makes them glow is probably radioactive.) In any case, it has the look… of that house on one's street at Christmas… the one with the unhappy family trying to convince themselves, as much as the neighbors, that everything is wonderful by the sheer number of lights and animatronic deer on their front lawn. Over-done and all the more unimpressive because of it. It's Las Vegas in the Himalayas. In this wall of glitz, there's a space, a blank-spot where something has been pried loose and removed. The space looks dead, lifeless compared to the glittery show all around it. And, the cavity looks familiar. It's the same blue as the hamsters sitting in the hood of my anorak. It's the same shape and colour as the stone I found at Castle Ddraig s Anadl, the stone I've been carrying with me since. As I was about to fit the stone into the void, I thought about its insistent presence: For us to have gone to the castle, after such a long time as a cold-case. For me to have ever found the stone, in all the rubble, and to have noticed it enough to bother picking it up. For it to have landed near the SUV when Owen chucked it out the window. For me to have had it with me when we we're called to come here. Someone or something is controlling things, and I'd really like to have some idea who… and why. Nash and the others have climbed out of my hood and are sitting on a broken stalagmite, watching me. They must be wondering why I'm sitting here, alternately writing and staring at the stone in my hand and the void in the ice wall. I ask them what to do, but they just smile those cryptic little hamster smiles, and continue to watch. Do I try the stone in the wall? Do I press the big button? Apparently the decision, and any horribly unpredictable consequence, is all up to me. No pressure or anything.


	23. Wild Geese

The unassuming little blue stone, found in a tall tower in a condemned castle in western Wales, fits in a slot in the ice wall of a cave high in the Himalayan Mountains. Who woulda thought? It opened a doorway, a rift like back home in Cardiff. But this one, it's controlled, and it's one the hamsters have used to go home. I didn't do what's safe and boring. I pressed the big button and the world didn't end… but I had to say good-bye. It was harder than I'd have thought, letting go of the little blue fur-balls. Guess I'd grown accustomed to their chattering (can one call it chattering, when they never make a sound, just gestures?) Anyway, already realizing that I'll miss them greatly. Seems to be the story of my life. Now the hamsters have gone home, their door is closed and I'm left alone, freezing and injured, in the giant dragon's head cave, wondering what to do next. Or, for that matter, if there'll even be a 'next.' Okay, Jones… Let's try for a cheerier thought, shall we? This wild goose chase Saxon has sent us on, I'd love to actually find something… and if it were actually 'goose' shaped… that'd show him. Think the altitude, not to mention the freezing cold… (oh wait, guess I did mention it…) is starting to get to me. Or maybe it's just the blood-loss. In any case, I think it's too far back, to try to find camp tonight, as it's getting dark again. Hope it's safe to sleep in here… or to sleep at all right now. Don't see many options. As I said, seems to be the story of my life.

I know I said it before, but there's something about this place. It's hard to distinguish between what's real and what's dream. This had to have been a dream. There I was, waiting out the night, alone in the big, probably radioactive, cave. Finally found a position where the wound on my shoulder didn't throb so badly that I couldn't sleep. Finally stopped hearing wind blowing that sounded like growling. Finally just passed-out cold. Next thing I knew I was awake and standing surrounded by what can only be described as the abominable snow monster (times 5.) They stared at me and I stared at them. They looked at each other, then back at me. Then something struck me (and not literally… for once) something in their movements was familiar… and rather… hamster-like. I tried-out a sentence in Nash's language and the creature just stared at me. Almost gave up for the stupidity that it was, but I attempted the sentence again, this time trying harder to control my shivering. After a moment, there was a change of expression within the furry facial features. Slowly the creature moved again and gestured. Soon, we were deep in conversation. They were, in fact, Yeti or Tsonoqua (most regional names were fine, just don't call them Bigfoot. They really hate that. Can't say as I'd blame them.) They'd been living on Earth for centuries and were quite happy, if just left alone. Couldn't quite understand why they used the same language as the space-hamsters, or where they were from originally (kept translating out as 'a galaxy far, far away.' Okay… so they're Wookies.) The discussion went on a bit on various topics. Yeti small-talk. We sat, had a drink of water, and I explained why we were here, and all, looking for Utopia. So Chewbacca there asks me something I don't quite understand. He tries again, and again, and I must be rather thick, because it takes a third try before I get that he's asking about: our guide, creepy Phil. I must've pulled a face or something, because all five Yeti laughed. I explained to them that he was our hired mountain guide, we really didn't know much about him… only that I personally found him… creepy (I swear, all he needs is the cravat.) Apparently creepy Phil had been part of a group (or clan? Couldn't quite translate that one either) that had been harassing the Yeti for generations. Creepy Phil and his friends were intent on capturing or killing Yeti. Not sure if it was for some ancient medicinal cure or for a zoo, but in any case, as the cause of many missing mates and little Yeti, Phil was bad news for their species. Got the distinct impression that 'was' was the operative word in that sentence… Seems that was why the Yeti had attacked me in the first place (an act for which they could not apologize enough.) They'd assumed that we were with Phil's clan, and they were planning on using me as bait to lure the others. When they realized that the hamsters were attempting to rescue me, they came to the conclusion that maybe they'd misjudged the situation. Chewbacca (can't call him anything else. Apparently Yeti don't have names that can be spoken. Can't quite figure how that works, but hey, who am I to say? Most people can't pronounce my name properly either, let alone spell it on the first try.) So, anyway, Chewbacca decided to just follow me and observe. Seems that at some point, when I was out in the snow-storm, creepy Phil had come across me, all unconscious and all (seems to be becoming a habit of mine, lately.) The Yeti that had been watching described how Phil had come across my body, half-buried in snow, and leant over me. The Yeti had felt this confirmed that we were working together, and was about to attack us both. But then he realized creepy Phil wasn't checking to see if I was alive, he was going through my pockets. Lovely. Stole my last Cadbury's Flake Bar and my stopwatch, the bastard. Then Phil just left me there. The Yeti realized that they had been wrong. He'd just decided to pick me up and take me back to the other Yeti when Nash returned from wherever he'd gone (that would've been something to see, great-big furry Wookie, hovering over me, sees little fluffy hamster and takes-off running. Too bad I was out cold. Always miss all the good bits.) Anyway, the Yeti went back to report what he'd seen to the rest of his group. And that was when creepy Phil apparently stumbled into their little meeting. (As I said, I miss all the funny bits.) Not so funny for creepy Phil. Seems he won't be causing any more losses within the Yeti community. Seems, maybe he won't ever be found either.

The head Wookie said that there was no such place as Shangri-La… not anymore, anyway. He didn't really want to talk about it. I didn't press. Asked him if he'd seen any goose-shaped things lying around. (Hey, I've got a concussion, give me a break.) He's given me back my stopwatch and my Flake Bar, plus a strange little jade flask (must be a Yeti thing.) Told him that it wasn't mine, but he just smiled (and I thought hamster smiles were scary.) I gave him the Flake Bar, which given how addictive I find them, was probably not a kindness after all. Still don't know if it was just a dream or not, but I woke up, far from the cave of wonders (I blame the blood-loss for the Aladdin reference,) right where the rest of Torchwood was out looking for me.

Back at the camp, Owen said that he can't figure-out how I've gotten great, gaping tears in the back of my anorak; enough blood dried on it to indicate massive injury, yet my back has only a few nearly healed scratches. I don't know. I just shrugged, which surprisingly enough, didn't hurt. Owen just grumbled that he never could figure me out anyway and gave me a shot of antibiotics. They won't say, but I can tell. They found what was left of Phil, while they were out searching for me. Think they assumed at that point, that if they found me at all, they'd find me in the same condition. Gwen just keeps smiling at me, stroking my arm. Think it's meant to be reassuring (for me or for her?) She's probably glad she hasn't lost someone under her command, but I think too… she… that they were worried… about me. Must've been nearing tea-time. No, but really… they won't hardly leave my side. Much as I hate the thought of them worrying over me, have to admit I haven't felt this warm since we left home, and it's got nothing to do with the temperature.

Tosh asked me about my 'pets.' What happened to the hamsters. Told her they've gone home. The team seems to assume that I mean they've all died, killed by the cold or by whatever attacked me. Owen patted me on the shoulder (the one he'd just finished bandaging) and told me not to be sad, that they'll all be happy in hamster heaven. Still working on that bed-side manner are we, Dr. House? Probably never know what was real and what was dream, or indeed what really happened. But the hamsters are gone, the little blue stone is no longer in my pocket and I like to think that sometimes there's a happy ending.

* * *

Gwen has decided that there never was a Shangri-La, that maybe, just maybe, Harold Saxon (or more likely just someone working for him) made a mistake. But in any case, she isn't risking any more of her people out here to find-out (and I think she misses Rhys.) As such, we are headed homewards this morning. Things really are looking up. (Yup. Usually the time something bites you on the leg.) Anyway, there's a brighter feel 'round camp this morning. Owen gathered the wood, even though it was my turn. Tosh is currently making the breakfast. Gwen is doing the packing-up. None of them will let me do anything to help. It's getting rather embarrassing. Every time I even stand up, one or more of them is at my side, asking what I need. No matter what I do, can't convince them that I'm fine. In fact, I haven't felt this good in quite a while. Having said that…

Finally did see the wild geese. At least I think they were geese. Some large birds in a flock. I absolutely refused to chase them. That'll show Saxon. Wonder if he won the election. Guess we'll find out soon. Even if it is not nearly soon enough. By our best estimate, should only have one more night before we can get to Lhasa and the hotel. I really never liked camping. Camping in the snow? Even less. Now that breakfast is done and everything is all packed-up, guess it's time to head back down the mountain. I say I guess its time… Glad the watch I took on this trip was my new, outrageously expensive, solar, water-proof marvel of engineering and Swiss watch making skill. So thankful that it was the one I lost, and not the one Jack gave me for Christmas.

Hiking in the Himalayas. Downhill is quite a bit nicer. Actually get a chance to look at some of the view, now that I'm not just staring at my boots all the time, willing them to keep climbing. The clouds are above us again, for the most part. And it's all rather stunning. Seems to be a path marked-out for us. Not saying it's the Yeti's doing, but there does seem to be a new route. We've been following it. Much faster and easier than the one we took on the way up. Thanks, Chewie. For some unknown reason, every time we stop for a rest, Tosh keeps trying to show me how to fold an origami goat. She's rather put-out that I'm not interested. She can't understand that I just don't want to take my gloves off to do it. Paper goat or frostbite? Hmmm, let me think. We've all been together a little too long, this trip.

What happens in the Himalayas, stays in the Himalayas… I hope. A total and complete loss of dignity: nothing new for me, then. So there we were searching the area around tonight's camp, without the assistance of a local guide, when we happened upon a cave. No one was surprised to find it; we are in the mountains, after all. The cave, however, turned out to be a tunnel instead. We were all actually quite surprised when the tunnel opened out into a rather large clearing, surrounded completely by craggy mountain, and filled almost completely with a lake. The lake, sparklingly blue, seems to be fed by a hot spring and was thus the temperature of a rather warm bathtub. There, surrounded by snow and ice, beset by a howling wind, was an oasis. So of course, and not at all surprisingly, within seconds Owen was stripped and in with a shout of 'Last one ins a rotten egg!' Gwen, fearless leader, and role model for us all, followed suit quickly as I both covered my eyes with my hand and shut them tight (very tight.) Tried to look busy, examining the surrounding rock wall, wishing for all the world that it would just fall in on me. When Gwen called, 'Come on in, the water's fine,' I think I stuttered when I said I didn't have my trunks. When Owen pointed-out that it hadn't stopped him, I lamely replied that not much ever stops him, that maybe I'd wait back at camp. As I turned to go, I felt Tosh's hand on my arm. The look in her eyes said as clearly as her whisper: 'Please, I want to stay, but if you go…' Great. Brilliant. Add that to my list of Torchwood duties: chaperone. Gwen decided to push the limits of her Torchwood command, ordering me: if I'm staying, I'm stripping. Once again, that pleading look from Tosh. I hate my life. Don't know which was more humiliating, the shout of 'Loose the snow-suit, Tea-boy' from Owen, or Gwen's loud and rather off-key singing of that strip-tease tune. Doesn't that just sum-up my life? Layer upon layer of humiliation. At least Tosh had been able to use the distraction of my utter embarrassment to slip quietly out of her clothes and into the pool. She owes me for this… big time. At Torchwood, there's a running joke, about deserving an action figure. I can see mine now: 'Ianto Jones now with automatic weapon and complete tea service.' Owen's would have a kung-fu kick… and mine? You'd press a button on its back and watch him blush.

So there we were, Owen trying to goad the ladies into floating on their backs, Gwen teasing Owen about 'shrinkage' while splashing him with water, and Tosh… well lets just say her own action figure would have the same 'blush' feature as mine (hope the batteries are replaceable.) I waited 'til my fingers got pruney, then distracted them with a "What was that? There! On the far side of the lake!" I was out of the water and had several layers back on before Gwen said she couldn't see anything. Yes Boss… that was the plan. Tosh was the first to figure it out and called me a 'sneaky monkey.' Owen and Gwen called various minor insults and taunts at my back as I departed back down the tunnel. Their derision metamorphosed, however, into something much more kind, when I returned from camp with large towels, sandwiches and a pot of hot chocolate.


	24. 7 Days in Tibet

7 Days in Tibet (or near enough.) Alright, I know the title's supposed to be 7 years, but it feels like it's been _at least_ a full year. I don't even know how long it has been. I've lost track of what day it is, how long it's been and you know what else? I really don't care. No. Really, don't care in the least. I just want to be home. I miss my flat. I miss my suits. I miss my coffee. And I miss the needy little space hamsters. It's a soothing thought, however, that this will be our last night camping in the Himalayan Mountains (well, knock on wood and all) barring any… No. I'm not even going to think about what could go wrong… everything will be fine. Simply won't allow it, anything that could keep us out here any longer, won't. Just won't happen. Nope. As I was saying, our last night without city lights, under these skies. Different skies. So different, so clear… As if the skies were made of diamonds.

Having written the above entry, within an hour, the sky has gone completely black. Not the dark of the night, but as if a blanket had been pulled over the Earth. Complete dark… black. Total black. Sloeblack. Sloe black. Crow black. (Sorry, D.T., that's probably a complete misquote, but I can't look it up to check… because I can't see… it's too bloody dark.) There are at least two new skills I can add to my CV (or is it just one skill?) to be able to write in the dark, while wearing ski gloves. So then in the dark, or perhaps because of it, the snow started falling again. Falling so fast and so long. Now the snow has gotten so deep we can't even leave the tent tonight. (We'll have to dig ourselves out in the morning, once it's light again.) For now, we've huddled together, told ghost stories, and tried not to think about needing to use the toilet.

* * *

About three in the morning, I felt a tickle at my ear, and a whisper of my name. Woken out of a rather sound sleep, I'll admit my first thought was of Owen's last horror tale. Just Gwen, however, trying her best to wake only me. Seems she wants the toilet more than she can say. So after digging a tunnel through the mounds of snow surrounding the tent, here I wait, standing guard. Can't say my life isn't exciting.

It's the morning now. Proper morning, with light in the sky and birds singing and all. Our tent ended-up looking more than a bit like an igloo all covered in snow, with the tunnel I dug last night. Owen's over trying to clear it all away so we can pack the tent and get moving right after breakfast. As it is our last morning camping (that's the plan, at least,) I've decided a proper fry-up would be just the thing for breakfast. Tosh and Gwen have fashioned a dining table for us out of fallen logs. Got all six pans going on the fire at once and I must say, they smell fantastic (the breakfast pans, not Tosh and Gwen.)

After a long morning's hike, we've made it back to the rental SUV, right where we left it. Almost went right past it, covered as it is in about 12 tonnes of snow. Started to dig it out when Gwen told Owen and Tosh to do it. Seems Gwen was ready for her lunch. Food and drink. Story of my life.

Just as we were finishing our lunch, the local tribesmen have come for the rental llamas. For all of his complaints about their salivary habits, Owen seems reluctant to part with his. Gwen keeps commenting on the smell of hers, but all the while stroking that little patch of fur between its ears. Tosh is sitting in the SUV and refusing to come out, claiming her scanner needs recalibrating. Ah, the tough, battle-hardened, alien-fighting, world-saving crew that is Torchwood 3. (Okay, so yep, I'll admit it. I'm going to miss mine as well. Goodbye, Latte, you're a good llama, you are.)

Unless Owen's mountain driving skills kill us, we'll be back in Lhasa before dark. Lot less crowded in the SUV than it was on the way up. All the supplies that took-up so much room are rather condensed to a compressed load of rubbish, cans nested into each other like those little dolls from Russia. (Leave nothing but footprints, etc.) We also have one fewer person. Still no one's said what exactly happened to Phil, but then again, no one's asked. Maybe we should have accepted the CDW on the rental mountain guide. We'll never get our deposit back now. Looking back up the mountain just now, I'm not sure if what I saw was just a shadow, or the last of a Yeti escort. Whatever (whoever?) it was, seems to be gone now. No shadows now, except those belonging to the trees. I've pulled all the empty cardboard boxes from the SUV, as they're no longer needed for organizing the supplies. When flattened, they make brilliant snow sleds. Thought a little winter fun before we head back to the city and then the airport for our ride home. Tosh has abandoned her scanner in the SUV and joined the others on the slope. Appears sledding isn't enough for Owen. He seems to be attempting to re-initiate the great snowball war. The second Snow War. SWII. Now he's done it… Be back in a sec.

We're back in Lhasa. Back to the hotel. Back to (close to) a proper shower. Ah civilization and hot water! Civilization _**is**_ hot water. Checked with the front desk, but no one had turned in my lost book. Too bad. I've asked them to see if they can locate an English-language newspaper. Feeling more than a little out of touch. In any case, I've returned the car, arranged for a flight back to Hong Kong, and notified the local police about "missing" Phil (seems they had several warrants out for his arrest and weren't too upset at the idea that he may never return.) In any case, the plan now is for a bit of a lie-down before Tosh and I hit the Lhasa Night Market. Really feeling the need for some intensive retail therapy.

Tosh and I have hit the market and hit it hard. A week without shopping is like a week without coffee. In fact, come to mention it that was the first stall we hit. Coffee here is different. Everything about the preparation and the blend. Not bad, just… different. In any case, once properly caffeinated, Tosh and I explored every stall in the market. Never did like to haggle. Doesn't seem proper. Tosh is really very good at it, however. Shy little Tosh… let her do all the dealing and I carried all the packages. Teamwork. One thing, though… Even here in Tibet, in the far corners of the world, where they only seem to have a dozen cars total, they have ATMOS. They don't have iPods, rechargeable batteries or acceptable indoor plumbing… but they have ATMOS. This whole ATMOS… craze. I don't understand it. It's good for the environment. Everyone says so. Why don't I like it, then? I like things that are good for the planet. Haven't used a single disposable carry bag in over three years now. But there's just something about it… Wonder if anyone else's ever noticed: ATMOS, like atmosphere, but the only part they aren't saying is the end… the 'fear.' Something about it is just… wrong.

Hey, here in the hotel, surrounded by all my market purchases, I'm relaxing with my Dylan Thomas again. This was one I hadn't read in forever… Pretty much forgotten it... _Altarwise By Owl-Light_. But it is, it's about Abaddon… **Our **Abaddon, the Devourer. Too wild. Starts me to think, maybe Dylan Thomas knew more than anyone thinks. Could explain some of his stranger poems. Could he have? Really wonder if he worked with Torchwood 3. I'll have to ask Ja- I'll have to check the archives. Strange, though. Anyway. Tosh should be by soon. Meeting Gwen and Owen later, for dinner. Wonder if they're still arguing.

Owen's allergic to seafood? Why didn't I know that? I should have known that. But there we were, in a little restaurant just round the corner from the hotel, having our last night out in Tibet. Owen took a bite of… well, I'm still not really sure what we'd ordered… Fish of some kind, apparently, because he took a bite and while chewing he was going on about the serving girl or something (you really shouldn't talk with your mouth full, Owen.) Suddenly he turns a rather odd colour and stops mid-sentence. While he will often talk with his mouth full, he rarely changes colour (and very rarely stops talking.) Gwen made a comment about Owen finally being quiet; Tosh made a strange little surprised sound and was across the table in a flash. Before Gwen even realized there'd been a problem, Tosh had the fish cleared from Owen's mouth and had produced a syringe from who knows where. Freed from his mouthful of seafood and injected with whatever anti-inflammatory agent Tosh had in her bag, Owen didn't go into anaphylactic shock. He was gasping for air through a swollen esophagus, but at least he was breathing. There you go Tosh; your action figure will be in the shops for next Christmas. Did feel for her though, Owen never said a word to her, just went on a tirade about ill-marked menus and what a hazard they were to travelers. Tosh completely missed the half-a-second grateful look Owen shot her as she resumed her seat across the table from him. His face is still a little swollen, but if he avoids unknown Tibetan fish dishes, he should be fine.

Gwen and Owen have spent the last 24 hours arguing. They want me to be their tie-breaker, settle whatever argument has caused all this. Really don't want to know and I particularly don't want to be a part of any of this. Can't we just go home?

* * *

Once again this morning there is no coffee to be found, anywhere. If I'd seen this coming, I'd have bought some at the market last night and made it myself. There'd been no warning. We really are at the ends of the world. In the lobby, with it's yellowing walls and… unusual scent, here we are waiting. Staring at my new watch. Definitely not as nice as my last one, but it's not like I was going to find quality Swiss craftsmanship in a Tibetan street market, now was I? Seems to be keeping time well enough, maybe a minute or two fast. As it is, Tosh and I are here in this lovely lobby, all checked-out. Gwen is outside, holding a taxi for us. We're all ready to go, all but Owen. If he doesn't hurry himself up, we're going to miss the plane. (The plane that only departs three times a week.) Ah, here's Owen now. Why's he stopping at the desk?

Went and told Owen that I'd handled all that. Mentioned to him that we're on a schedule, that according to my new Tibetan digital watch it's already 8:02a.m., all Owen had to say was, 'Hang on, Ianto. Not like it's the end of the world or anything.' No, another few days here, think I might prefer the world to end. Seems the concierge has located a newspaper for me. Looks like _Doctor_ Owen Harper's finally ready to depart. Just like a _Doctor_, always keeps you waiting.

Speaking of waiting, we're now waiting once again, this time at the airport. Took a look at the newspaper the hotel staff provided. It's dated three months ago. I'll have to wait for Hong Kong. They'll have news. New news. Looking at my last diary entry… must be tired. Strange, though. It was so out of the blue, like an echo in my head... It's just I don't usually think of Owen as a Doctor. I mean he is one, and quite a good one. But the way I usually think of him… He's a co-worker. A teammate. Drinking Mate. Git. Twat. And sometimes I think of him as 'Obnoxious' Twat, but I don't usually think of him as _Doctor_ Harper.

Direct flight from Lhasa to Hong Kong. Nothing exciting and all went fine, except that the plane was a bit late getting in. As such, we've missed our connection. After discussing options with the man at the counter, I've hit upon a plan that I think will work just fine.

While we were waiting (again) I finally located a newspaper, and a current one at that. After a cursory look at the headlines, my only question is: "Why would anyone in their right mind run for political office? The average life expectancy seems to run about nil point 5." Owen pointed out that: 'The key word there is 'in their right mind.' To which Gwen observed: 'Actually Owen, that's five words… Four. Four words.' Owen: 'I have a four letter word for you, Gwen.' As I said, no idea what the fight's about, but I'm staying out of it. In any case, not much in the ways of details yet, but apparently both the American President, and the Prime Minister have been killed. Particulars were a little sketchy. But still… congratulations on your election, Mr. Saxon… and condolences on your loss, Mrs. Saxon.

The internet is immobilized. The entire thing is just frozen. No networking, nothing. No contact. Problems with the phones as well, internationally at least. Gwen's been trying to call U.N.I.T. and Whitehall, see what anyone knows about Saxon, but she can only make local calls. Tosh and I could usually get it sorted for her, back home in the hub, but here in the middle of the Hong Kong Airport? 'Fraid we've been out of touch for a week, and it appears like it's going to have to be that way just a little longer. Not much we could do from here, other side of the planet and all. Well, we should be home soon anyway.

Went to find some snacks to take on the flight. Owen went with me (more about Gwen-avoidance than the need to stretch his legs, I'm thinking.) After a nice chat with the sales clerk, who insisted on teaching me some Chinese phrases she thought I'd find useful, we headed back to the others. As we walked back through the airport Owen asked me something strange, just out of the blue: 'What is it with you?' What do you mean? 'That's the third girl today, and then there was that guy too.' Still wasn't sure what he meant, they were just being friendly. 'Ya call that being friendly? She wanted you, mate. She'd had had you right then and there. Why don't you? What are you waiting for? I'd have had her.' Well, as if THAT alone wasn't a good enough reason… I don't even know her last name, anything about her. 'Ianto, you belong in another fuckin' century.' Do I? Is that a bad thing?

Since we got back from the airport shop, Owen hasn't been able to let it go. Why does he think I should pursue every person who says hello? Told him he's just jealous. I meant it as a joke, but now he's pouting. C'mon… Owen jealous of my life? Not likely. Luckily, our flight's about to board. Only one seat was available in first class this time around. Gwen has instituted a rota for it. What does that woman have with rotas? In any case, she's taking it first but the rest of us didn't mind. Saved us from having to listen to wedding plans the entire flight home.

Only problem with this seating arrangement is that recently Tosh has taken Gwen's side in whatever the argument she's having with Owen. As such, Tosh's mad at Owen as well and has made me sit between them the entire flight. They each have been trying to draw me to their side in the argument. No, I'm not listening. 'You displease me greatly and I ignore the both of you.'

This leg of our flight home is eleven hours. Thought about keeping Tosh awake this time, but she really looks like she could use the rest (not that I'd tell her. Owen said that once to Gwen and we didn't hear the end of it for days.) Just noticed the time. Gwen's missed the seat rotation deadline on her own rota. Owen's realized he's overdue for some obnoxious behavior. He just grabbed my MP-3 player out of my hand with a, 'Whatcha listening to?' My response of: "To my MP-3 player" didn't satisfy him. He insisted in looking through my entire playlist with questions like: 'What's Blue Gillespie?' Rather than justify my musical preferences I headed to the service area to chat with the flight attendants.

We are all so tired and ready for this whole goose-chase to be over and done. Last time the Torchwood team sniped at each other this much, it ended with Owen shooting Jack and the release of Abaddon the Devourer. Hope to avoid that sort of thing, this time. Speaking of tired and snippiness… No one has bothered to ask about the trip-routing. The fact that we're heading east, towards the United States. No one has noticed we seem to be taking the long way home (albeit not much longer.) Maybe they have noticed. Maybe they assume that I've done it for a good reason and as they trust me, they just aren't questioning. Maybe-

Or… maybe not. Owen just woke-up and is a little bit… grumpy. He seems to have finally looked at the little thing they've been projecting on the forward wall for the entire flight. The display that shows our flight plan and a little plane marking our progress, like something out of an Indiana Jones movie. Now, nine hours in, he realizes we're in for a plane change in Los Angeles and from there it'll be another 13 hour flight to London. Now he isn't speaking to me. Wait 'til he realizes that, to top-it-all-off: we have a 14 hour layover. As I think I mentioned, the flight we missed left us with rather few alternatives. In the long run, I hope they'll all be happy with the choice I made. Or if not, that they'll at least forgive me. If they don't forgive me (if my body shows up in Cardiff Bay in a few days, with forged retrospective work schedules, making it look like I've only been missing for 24 hours,) I'd like to leave a note for the record, why I made the flight plan choices that I did. It goes something like this:

A commercial comes on the television. The camera moves in on a rather tired-looking 25 year-old Welshman, really in need of sleep and a proper shave (that's me) and a voice is heard: 'Ianto Jones… You've just scaled the Himalayas, met the Abominable Snowman, and sent the space hamsters home, all the while keeping the Torchwood team from starving… What are you going to do now?' To which I reply: "I'm going to Disneyland!"


	25. Heading Home

So here we are, "the Happiest Place on Earth." Must be so, the phrase is patented and copyright protected, said so on the $10 per car sign for the parking garage. Well, at least for that $10 we each get a ride, down an escalator to a tram that takes us across the street to the ticket booths. Huzzah! Our first line of the day! Thought I'd choke at the prices. Only want four day-pass, not stock in the whole bloody place. As I smiled (weakly) and pulled out my card, Gwen pushed me aside (okay, we're in America, guess she body-checked me) and slid her credit card across instead. Tried to argue, as this had been my idea and all. Gwen just kissed me on the cheek and said, 'I know, love. It's a brilliant idea, but I'm the boss and it's my treat.' Okay, boss. Thanks. Owen seems to have taken the "Happiest Place" concept as a personal challenge. He's definitely taken it to heart. Right from the start… They let you in early, at least as far as "Main Street." Guess all the crowds milling around, might as well sell you something while you wait to get in (not that I'm complaining. Shops are one of mankind's greatest achievements. It's just when you see a couple walk out first thing with a giant stuffed Mickey Mouse…and I do mean giant. It was at least as tall as the woman herself. What are they planning on doing with it the rest of the day? By the name alone, I'd have assumed "Splash Mountain" would be off limits for gigantic plush mice. What were they thinking?) In any case, Main Street, U.S.A., thousands (tens of thousands?) of people crowded together, pressing against each other and towards the end of the street. There, it's cordoned off by a handful of Disneyland employees in their rather unpleasing pastel uniforms. Gwen, Tosh and I have found a little porch with a few seats, up and out of the masses. No idea where Owen is. One thing I'll say for the place, crowded or not, I really do feel great. After Tibet, after all the cramped miles in economy class, it's nice to stretch again, breathe city-air and… just realized for the first time in I don't know how many months… I don't have any headache. Not single twinge, pain or throb. Not a bit. Now having said that… a screaming child in a nearby stroller has re-introduced the throbbing. Never mind. Did I mention it's crowded? Never did like crowds.

It's just before noon and here I sit, holding down a table at a Mexican restaurant just next to "Big Thunder Mountain Railroad." The headache is gone again and I feel like… well, if this were a musical I would jump on the table top and sing… but it's not a musical, so I won't even worry how ridiculous that last statement is, coming from me, and all. Anyway… I do feel really really great. The sun is shining, the birds are singing, the others are buying lunch, the music swells and … okay, enough with the musical theatre references. Tosh has informed me that I'm not to do a thing about food and drink all day today, that she and Owen are splitting the duty. Wondered out loud if anyone had told Owen yet, to which Tosh whispered that it was all his idea. Any other place and time, I'd have thought she was kidding…Guess I should backtrack a bit, set the stage for my own little musical, as it were... The last entry prior was written with a few minutes to go before the rest of the park opened. So there we were, sitting on our nice little porch, people-watching, Gwen and Tosh had just said they wanted to take it slowly, stay out of the crushing crowd and take it easy today. Next thing I know, Owen appeared from nowhere, a head and shoulders popping up above those around him, he waved and disappeared again. Seconds later, popping-up again, closer. A few more pops and he was at our porch, grinning madly and trying to catch his breath. Gwen advised him that the plan for the day was 'Calm.' Owen's grin never faltered. He just said, 'Bollocks to that. Ianto's with me. We'll meet you at the Tiki Room at eleven.' Owen had my arm in a rather vice-like grip and had me off the porch and deep into the crowd in seconds. He worked our way through the crowd as if the world depended on it, and before I knew it, we were at the front of the mass, right by the pastel uniformed employees. The announcement was made from loudspeakers above, that the park would be opening in just a few minutes. Owen's grin grew even wider as he exchanged excited looks with the 10 year old boy to his left (even though this was the fifth such message since we passed through the ticket gates.) Owen, Doctor Owen Harper, MD, fighter of aliens, protector of the human race, stood bouncing on his toes and watching the Mickey shaped clock tick ever closer. He eyed the pastel uniformed employee, who looked ever more nervous at the prospect of an early death by stampede. Some Disney music was played and Owen tensed like a sprinter in the Olympics, awaiting the crack of the starter pistol. Then, in an instant, we were off. I say "we" as I really had no choice in the matter. Owen's grasp on my shirtsleeve, coupled with the press of the masses behind us, propelled me forward. I have to admit, Owen's enthusiasm was a touch contagious and I didn't protest. In the next couple of hours we visited Indiana Jones, Star Tours, Space Mountain, Thunder Mountain, Splash Mountain, and the Dumbo ride. I asked Owen about this last choice. Apparently the line for the Matterhorn had been too long at the moment and as it was nearing eleven, we had an appointment with the ladies, back in Adventureland. While here, I'm apparently free from planning or organizing of any kind. AND IT IS FABULOUS! When we met up with Gwen and Tosh, we discovered that 'taking it slowly' meant circling the park on the train, Pirates and the King Arthur Carousel. Owen's frustration was evident (and rather amusing.) He advised them that, 'After lunch, Ianto and I are gonna show you ladies how it's done!"

So over lunch we sat with a map of the park and the schedule of events. We planned our strategy. Owen had scheduled lunch early so while others were eating later, the lines for us would be less. He figured that the first parade would be a good time to head back to the 'big' rides and pick-up the Matterhorn. He handled 'Fastpass' scheduling, crowd avoidance, and the entire itinerary. Think maybe Owen had been thinking about this for a while, planning in case he ever got the chance to visit the place. I will admit, I did do a little bit of planning of my own, small scale stuff, though: The seating arrangement for the Matterhorn… little bit of line shuffling put Tosh with Owen. (The way you sit between each other's legs. Cozy.) Did it again when we re-rode Splash Mountain. Think maybe Gwen was starting to get the wrong idea. Pointed out to her how cute they look together and from that point on, she shared in the line-shuffle responsibilities. I think I had as much fun just being there with everyone as I did riding the rides and all. I will say one thing, however… very disappointed with the 'Abominable Snowman' on the Matterhorn. Way too short, and the colouring was all wrong. Ah well. Accuracy is the first victim of the modern, animatronic age.

Taking a bit of a break, having a sit-down. After we all had our silhouettes cut at a tiny shop on Main Street, I'm holding down our spots for the second parade. Tosh and Owen are doing some of the Fantasyland rides and I think Gwen's off looking for a toilet or something. She just said, 'Ooooh!' and took off like a shot. Five minutes 'til the parade and the music has started. I can see Owen doing his 'getting through a crowd' routine, popping up here and there. No sign of Tosh, as her height is a little too far below crowd-level. Ah, Gwen's made it back as well, bag in hand. Shopping it was then, just as the parade approaches.

Well our day at the "Magic Kingdom" is done. After more rides (still can't believe Owen was willing to do 'It's a Small World,') a stage performance, dinner, and yet a few more rides, our time there was over. We've made it back to the airport, returned the rental car, and are waiting for boarding. Owen and Gwen have crashed on the floor by the boarding gate, both still wearing the Mickey Mouse hats that Gwen had bought as we waited for the parade. She had told me about the number of times over she'd had to spell my name for the clerk at the shop. She'd almost given-up on the embroidered names, but finally just wrote it down for the clerk to copy. Guess not that many Welsh make it to Disneyland. Embarrassing as it was to begin with, all four of us wore the hats the rest of the day. And mine is now safely tucked in my carry-on bag where it will remain, most likely never be seen by human eyes again (certainly not on my head, at least.) Still, it was a nice thought. Much as I like a good shop, I'm not one for theme park merchandise. Did find a nice little place, however, right in base of the castle, where they do heraldry plaques and the like. Could probably get the same at home, but I picked-up engraved coat-of-arms plaques for "Jones" as well as for "Harper" and "Sato" (not sure about the validity of that particular coat-of-arms.) Then, splurged a bit on an embroidered double, "Cooper" and "Williams." Thought it'd make a nice early wedding gift. Waiting until we get home to give them out, though. Figure it's not really polite, not really nice: here! I bought you a somewhat bulky, really heavy gift. Hope you don't get a hernia with it in your travel bag. Instead I now have three somewhat bulky, really heavy gifts, plus my own plaque… Hope I don't get a hernia. Hope they let me carry it on board. The airline might not like it being stowed in the overhead compartment, though… I might not like it in the overhead compartment, at least not over my head. Should go and ask the boarding desk attendant about it.

Okay, the crew will put my bag in with their personal bags for me. The older gentleman at the boarding desk was going to take my bag and have it checked-in for me when the flight attendants arrived. A tall blonde one (no Viking ancestry there!) said that I shouldn't have to worry about the weight of my bag and he'd take care of it for me (along with anything else I needed while in flight.) Airline staff have been so nice this entire trip. Really should write a letter to the airline.

Was just called back up to the desk. Worried there was a problem with my bag after all, I spoke with the woman at the desk who'd called my name. She said that there was a problem, but with my ticket. I must've looked worried, 'cause she smiled and said not to be concerned, that they'd fixed the error and moved me up to first class. (This time it's all mine, Gwen.) Really have to write that letter to the airline. We should be about ready to board. Just wondering where Tosh has gotten off to. Must be off shopping. I'm too tired to shop. Too tired to shop? I must be getting old. That's just wrong.

Tosh was in fact, shopping. She just came back all animated. She's bought me a present: A digital book reader. Tosh saw it in the duty-free and was so excited by its functions and memory capacity. Apparently this one can store more than a million pages at any one time. She's already loaded the entire works of Tolkien into it, along with Dylan Thomas. Though I've told her repeatedly that it's no worry, she's trying to make up for loosing my dog-eared old book. Tosh is so sweet. Don't think she'll ever understand, though. Half of what I love about reading is the book itself, the feel of it, the weight of it, the anticipation of the page turn. I like the feel of the next page on my finger as I turn it, not the click of a button or touch of an icon. Technology just isn't the same. She's also bought me the universal adapter, so I can charge it anywhere in the world. Just won't ever replace a real book. Still… it is a nice matte-black finish and all.

Seems the reason there was a problem with my ticket earlier had nothing to do with my reservation, and everything to do with me not having been in Stephan's section (the tall Viking flight attendant.) So here I now sit with champagne (never much cared for it) and chocolates (have to admit, they're good) and the most annoyingly loud person ever, right next to me. Everything she said was a shout, angled right into my ear, partnered with a clawing grab of my arm. All the rest of the section is quiet, all but the woman next to me. She had noticed Dylan Thomas on my book reader earlier and grabbing my arm, proceeded to tell me how much she LOVES Thomas. Too tired to shop means way too tired for meaningless small talk. I gave her a quick, meaningless smile and continued reading. She asked me where I was from. Wales, I said. Thought my quiet tone made it clear I'd rather be left alone. Alas, no. 'Well REALLY? I LOVE everything about Wales.' Another quick meaningless smile. 'Where in Wales?' she persisted. "Llareggub." She just grinned ever more broadly and asked if it was nice there. Yep, can tell you're a really big D.T. fan. Have you actually ever actually even read any Thomas? Any at all? Under Milk Wood? Ring any bells? Llareggub? Fictional town full of crazy people? No? Nothing?... But instead I just smiled again and said yes, it's nice and quiet.

An hour later Gwen, tired of sitting with a sleeping Owen and Tosh, came to check on me. Offered to switch seats with her. This woman here wants to hear all about Wales. Here ya go, this is Gwen. She's from Wales too. Have fun. I've no doubt they will be fast and furious friends. Back with Owen and Tosh (Sorry Stephan, not in your section again.) Tosh is once again dead to the world asleep, curled into the tiny airline seat with her iPod (think she's faking the sleep.) How does she fit in her seat like that? My feet are on the floor, but my knees are still up to my chin. Owen asked me what time it was. Asked him if he wanted time at home, or where we currently were. He said home, so I told him. Then he asked for the time where we were now and I told him that too. He grabbed my arm and stared at my Tibetan market digital watch. '23 pence for the thing and it has dual time zones?' Nope, that one would have been more expensive. Told him I always have my watch set for home, and just calculate local time in my head when I travel. He proceeded to quiz me on every city name he could remember. (Not that I thought for a minute he had any idea what the correct time zone would be for any of them anyway.) Tosh just smiled in her sleep at all that (knew she was faking!) and she had to check herself from laughing when I reversed Sydney and Moscow's time zones without Owen having noticed.

* * *

Back on British soil. Well, British low-pile airport carpet at least. Here we wait at the luggage claim carousel. And wait. And wait. Speaking of which, we've had to wait until we now to check messages. Tosh's finally gotten a connection through to check what's going on in the world and, more importantly, our e-mail. Owen asked her if there was anything good. Could see Tosh's eyes scanning as she checked, 'London hospital's gone missing… no wait… Never mind, it's back. Okay, a couple tagged urgent, from Vivian Rook.' Owen looked bored as he told her to 'Skip them, She's annoying.' To Tosh's look of disapproval, he continued, 'We'll get back to her. Anything else?' Tosh continued to skim the e-mails: 'Hmmm, okay, how about a giant scorpion creature attacking a gala?' That got Owen's attention, 'Now you're talking! Free drinks!' As I'd finally got my laptop to find a connection as well, I had to be the bearer of the bad news: "No, sorry. Sorted as well, few days back. Looks like we've missed all the action... and the free drinks." Owen was heart-broken.

So, couldn't have been on that British soil for fifteen minutes. Standing, waiting at the luggage carousel, when I hear an odd jingling sound. It's been so long, it takes a few times for me to remember that's the sound of my own mobile phone ring. Answered it. Forwarded from the hub, it's a call from U.N.I.T. They demanded to know where we've been, they've been trying to get a hold of us, they had needed back-up. 'Fraid I was a little too tired and a little too jet-lagged to deal with it with the proper decorum. I reminded him in no uncertain terms that Torchwood doesn't answer to U.N.I.T. (we are beyond the United Nations and all.) Furthermore, we won't be continuing with those damn C.R.P.A. reports. When we have information we want to share from now on, we'll shoot them a text. Until then, if they need our help, they can ask for it, NICELY. We're nobody's "back-up!" And with that, I hung up. Gwen said, 'Remind me never to get on your bad side.' Damn right, too. Now, where's that luggage?

Team asked why our baggage seems rather light. I'd already told them, back in Tibet, that I'd donated most of it to a local charity/disaster relief organization. Not like we'd be needing that much sub-zero equipment here, anyway. And I really didn't want to find a place for it all, back at the hub. Maybe if anyone ever listened… Anyway, given our penchant for saving the world, and not to mention our overall trustworthiness, you'd think that Torchwood could skip to the front of the line at customs…. As it is, and we've time to kill (by the looks of the queue, lots and lots of time) I rang-up Torchwood 2, just to check-in. What a strange man. Talk about out of touch! He didn't even know that Saxon was dead. We were stuck in the Himalayas… What's your excuse? Glasgow? Yeah, well… okay. Speaking of strange… also checked the answer-phone messages for the Tourist Office. Apparently Saxon himself called and had left a message on our machine while we were away. He seemed to be gloating over some plans he had. Seemed to assume we'd know what he was on about, promising evil things if we survived the Himalayas. Something about sending the 'toclaphane' especially for us? Is that a flower delivery service? I've heard of Toblerone, maybe he's sending us chocolates? No, wait, he's evil and he's dead. Guess we'll have to find our own chocolate.

We picked-up the SUV in long-term parking, just as we'd left it, how long ago? There was no debate, no arguing over seating arrangements, we all just got in and headed to the hotel. On the way we discussed staying a day or two, maybe take in a show, see the sights. For tonight, I think what everyone wants most is to sleep in a warm bed, and after dinner that's exactly what I'm going to do.

It's probably all down to being back in London. Just woke-up from one hell of a nightmare. The world ended, invaded by millions of metal globes. Like miniature void-ships. No Cybermen or Daleks this time, but something even less human. I was standing in a pod in the London Eye, watching. Next to me Dylan Thomas spoke:

On whom a world of ills came down like snow

He cried as he died, fearing at last the spheres

Last sound, the world going out without a breath:

Too proud to cry, to frail to check the tears.

I turn to look at him, turn away from the spheres, but he's gone and I'm alone in the pod. I look back and the spheres are gone as well, but so is London, so is the Earth. The pod now floats in a sea of stars. So what the hell does all that mean? Rather undecided about reincarnation, but I start to wonder if I am Dylan Thomas. Maybe I should grab a couple of drinks and a couple of women and find out. Then again, maybe I should just go back to bed and grab a few more hours of sleep.

* * *

Looks like the extended London visit is off. Tosh wants to get back and plug-in the updates she's written for the rift-predictor program, Gwen misses Rhys, and Owen says he just doesn't care. Think in all reality, we just couldn't all agree on what play to see in the West-End, so after a little debate over breakfast, we're packing once again and home we will head. Gwen's on the phone to Rhys now, then we'll be checking-out. I'd heard a voice behind me, 'London has too many memories.' I hadn't noticed but Owen had entered, and was now sitting on the bed next to Tosh as we waited for the boss to finish her call. He went on to ask me if I knew what he meant. "Yep." I looked out at the breathtaking view from the hotel room window. I must have been quiet for too long, 'cause Owen came to stand behind me at the window, seeing the same view, but feeling a different pain. Or maybe it wasn't so different after all. After a minute or two, he must have followed my gaze, because all he said was, "Oh, God. Ianto. I'm sorry." A breath-taking view indeed. On a clear day such as this morning, one can see all the way down the Thames. All the way to the steel-capped, pointed tower of Canary Wharf. Yep. Some memories aren't worthy of a song. I'm ready to go home now.


	26. Home is where the Pterodactyl is

So, finally almost home. It's been a rather quiet ride, everyone lost in their own thoughts. In fact, don't think anyone's said a single word since we pulled-out of the parking area at Stonehenge. We'd stopped, just to take a look as Owen had never been. Not much to see beyond the postcard images. But its one of those places, you need to be able to say you've been, at least once. We were just about done, Gwen was considering a paperweight they had for sale (gift for Rhys? Can't think of any other reason she'd want the thing.) Anyway, that's when we saw this guy, trying to blend-in amongst all the tourists. I say trying, because whatever he does, it's never going to work. We'd seen pretty much the same thing back at Disneyland, in the parade… people roller-skating around, dressed like a great lump of coral, with a whole tropical fish stuck over their head… only 2 differences between then and now, this one's wearing a suit, and the fish-head isn't a mask. Okay… 3 differences, no roller-skates either; this one has a stolen sports car instead. Maybe if he was in Cardiff, he could have gotten away with it, but that sort of thing is a little too out of the ordinary this far from the Rift. So anyway, Owen and Gwen tried to corner the fish, keep it away from its transport. The fish drew a gun and shoved Owen over backwards. (Why would a fish carry a gun anyway, guns don't work underwater?) In any case, after a rather lengthy chase on foot, the fish made it back to his vehicle and away. That's when Gwen came-up to me, all out of breath and panting like a Labrador. She was yelling that they could have used a little help… if it wasn't too much trouble. Just smiled and pointed out the crowds of tourists all trying to figure-out why their cameras weren't working… "Crowd control. While you were in hot pursuit, Tosh and I were making sure you didn't end-up on the evening news." By the time we'd picked-up Owen, who was still lying in a ditch a hundred feet away, trying to remember how to breathe, the fish and the sports car were out of sight. Gwen went on for a good five minutes about how we'd lost the alien and that as a team, we should have done better. Rather than point out to her that we were jet-lagged, worn-out and in need of sleep, I instead opted to suggest that we simply continue to head home as that's the direction the fish was headed anyway. Given Owen's penchant for speeding, it shouldn't be too hard to 'catch' the fish. To which Gwen (rather sarcastically, I might add) asked how I knew where it was going. I said that for one thing the best place for seafood, especially fresh fish, was The Clipper back at Mermaid Quay, and for another thing that's simply where he's headed. Owen asked if I had sonar… or a fish finder, to which I answered, no. Tosh can follow him with the SUV's scanner; I told them that while they were chasing the fish over hill and over dale, I'd placed a tracking signal generator in the fish's convertible. So as I said, it's been quiet in the car since then. Too quiet. Not sure if Gwen's mad at me. May have taken too much initiative back there, thinking of something she hadn't. Not good for the tea-boy to show-up the boss. Especially not good if she hasn't finished with those annual employee reviews yet. Anyway… quiet.

Started to hum that tune from Jaws, not the shark music, the one they sing in the boat at night, while they're waiting… Farewell and adieu, my fair Spanish Ladies. Farewell and adieu, fair ladies of Spain… (Good thing I'm just humming, not sure I remember the words.) Beginning to think no one gets it, that it's going over like the proverbial lead balloon… (Or a Splott joke.) But then Owen picks-up on it, he starts tapping out the rhythm of the other song on the steering wheel… the one Richard Dreyfus' character starts. Tosh starts to hum along, but Gwen is still staring (glaring?) out the side window. Owen starts in on the lyrics, 'I'm tired and I wanna go home…' By the time he gets very far, Tosh and I have joined in: "Had another drink 'bout an hour ago… and it's gone straight to my head." I could see the smile start to tug on the corner of Gwen's lips and soon she could resist joining in no longer.

It's getting dark now, as we approach Newport. We've decided that as, other than stealing a car, the fish hasn't seemed to cause any real or immediate problems. He doesn't seem to pose any urgent threat, so Gwen wants to head to the hub, check that everything is fine there, and catch the fish later. (It's been a long drive, I'm sure the rest of us could use a toilet break as well, Gwen. No need for excuses.) So now we (well, I) have un-packed the SUV, and gotten things sorted here. Gwen's been on the phone to Rhys, Tosh has been updating that Rift prediction program she was working on in Tibet, and Owen has crashed on the couch. As I sit here now (at Jack's desk) there's something odd. It's not that anything's missing or broken or really out of place… all Gwen's papers are here, the picture of Rhys and all… I guess after being gone it's just that feeling that everything is just a little out of focus when you get back and see it again. Looking at normal life again instead of new things. But there's something else… a certain… feel. It even smells just a little different. Not musty like I'd expect the hub to smell after more than a week all closed-up. There's something… comforting, just a little hint of spice, like cinnamon and vanilla. Damn! It's Jack. It still smells like Jack. After all these months, all it took was a few days left undisturbed for the office to smell like him again. It's not fair. Better stay clear of here until it fades again, or I'll never get anything done. Need to move on. Stay focused. Just isn't fair.

The evening's getting on now. Rather than send everyone home, Gwen's decided that, at this instant, we should go after the fish. (Think she had a bit of a row with Rhys on the phone. After all this time away, she doesn't want to go home now.) In typical fashion, Owen and Tosh are debating a name for the fish. Owen says Blowfish. Tosh states there is no evidence to indicate that he has any blowfish characteristics. Owen claims that it's probably poisonous, loaded with weapons, and we should take extra artillery. Tosh says that she hadn't seen anything other than the one handgun. They've been at it for half an hour now. If they ask me what we should call him, I'm going to vote "Paul." He looks like a "Paul" to me. So far, no one's asked.

So after a great deal of waiting around, we took off after the Blowfish. (Didn't even get a chance to vote.) We've picked up the tracking signal again without a problem. It's like he'd been sitting, waiting for us. Once we took off, however, so did he. After all the sitting around, feels strange to be in a chase again. Based on Owen's fears about the fish, I kept wondering if we were 'gonna need a bigger boat.' So there we were, tracker pinging away, hot on the… tail… of the Blowfish, and Gwen insists that Owen stop so she can ask an OAP on the street if she's seen a Blowfish. Subtle. We go careening 'round the city, lights blazing, pointing out the aliens to bystanders… what part of 'secret organization' is causing the confusion? So we chased the fish. Gwen, in her role of professional team-leader persisted in teasing Owen about it. Doesn't she realize? Of course Owen's afraid of the Blowfish. He's allergic to seafood, isn't he? Did come to the conclusion that Owen's been watching too many movies, 'cause he climbed out the window to shoot the fish's tyres. Worked though, got the fish to stop. Unfortunately also led to a shooting and a hostage situation. Never did like fishing.

What I want to know is how did this Blowfish know about us? Sure, he knew about Torchwood, but also he knew about us. He knew who we were, what our jobs were… are Blowfish psychic? Or had he just done his research? Still, to be honest, I have to wonder if he was right about me. Promoted beyond my measure. Could I have shot? Really? A living… being. Alien or not. Drugged-out fish or not. Could I have pulled the trigger? And how good am I? Could I have gotten him before he got her? Could I have done it, to save the girl? In any case, what bothered me most about the whole thing… 'Minion?' Don't think I like being called a 'minion.' And just who does he think he is? Calling me 'office-boy?' Huh? Guppy-boy. Minnow.

So now here I am, having changed the shot-out tyre, I'm driving the little red sports car back to the hub, and stuck in traffic. Apparently truck spilt its load and traffic's being re-routed. That's okay. Gives me a chance to think, since the others are in the SUV with the dead fish and… Guess I should mention, Jack's back. Just like that. Just like him. Months away. No goodbye, nothing, then he's just suddenly there again. Like he'd never left. I turned and couldn't believe it, but there he was. It was like a dream. It was like déjà vu. I think I'm still not sure if he was really there or not. It'd probably be easier if it was all just a dream.

Once I'd gotten back to the hub, the others were already there. At first I wondered what I'd missed in the SUV on the ride back. Didn't take long to see how things stood. The boss is back, but the new boss isn't giving in that easily. Thar be squalls ahead. Anyway, I told Gwen that the car was impounded and I'd return it to the owner in the morning, but Gwen seemed a little too preoccupied demonstrating her leadership skills to hear me (or she just ignored me.) So intent on showing her command of the situation, she rushed around, issuing orders that didn't need to be said. Owen too rushed around. Owen doesn't rush. Definitely all for Jack's benefit. And Jack. Jack just stood with that little bemused smile of his. That was until Gwen screeched at him. Owen asked him point blank, where he'd been. There's that pause in his reply. He's not thinking of what to say, but how much… or more precisely, how little. He'd found his Doctor. That blue box. Before I'd thought it through, I asked him if he was going back to him. Jack said, 'I came back for you.' I felt myself flinch, caught my heart skip, before he looked away and continued, 'All of you.' Thought so.

Tosh's computers have alerted her of Rift activity, but the predictor program is interfering, slowing down the coordinates. While she's working it out, I'm trying to work things out of my own. What do I do around Jack? Was that, 'I came back for you,' really for me? Or was it just typical Jack flirting? I'd promised myself that I wouldn't get swept away again. It was easier, making that promise then. Jack wasn't standing, just over there, at the time. I can't focus on anything with him there. No, that isn't right… I can't focus on anything… else, with him standing just over there. So close, yet farther away than ever before. Focus. Okay. Here's a new quandary: when Tosh has the coordinates finalized, I'm not sure if I should head to the SUV with the others, or do I go back up and wait in the Tourist Office? I was made field agent when Jack left. Because he left. When they needed a fourth. Do they still need me along? Want me along? Am I still even still a field agent? Or am I back to waiting here and tidying the hub? Owen just answered all my concerns by tossing his med-kit at me with a 'Make yourself useful Tea-boy. C'mon then, Tosh's got us a location.'

So there we were at the base of **that** parking garage. Don't know why we bother with all the Rift Monitors, scanners, expensive equipment and the like. Anything strange happens in the city, it's usually related to that garage. Should just head there first. Team was doing its job. Jack was trying to step in, supervise. Be boss again. Gwen's not giving up without a fight. I spent most of the time ready to assist Owen, and trying not to look at Jack. It's only fair. He hasn't looked at me since he said he came back for me… us… whatever. Remember thinking that nothing was going to break the awkward feeling when Jack's wrist-strap started beeping. A hologram message for Jack. Didn't know what to think. Bouncing between "Oh great! Jack's past again" and "Cool! A hologram!" Mostly I wondered if there's something I should be doing, but Owen looked as confused as I felt, so I guessed no. Is it wrong to feel jealous of a hologram? Apparently not, because Jack just took off in the SUV, leaving me… us, again. I wasn't there to stop him leaving last time, and it tore me apart. I sure as hell wasn't going to let him just disappear without a trace again. Torchwood in hot pursuit, in a taxi. Brilliant. Think the rest of the team felt just as annoyed at being abandoned as I. They're rather vocal about it. Why do I constantly feel the need to defend Jack, when everything they say is a mirror of what I've been thinking since he left?

So when we got to where Jack was this time, how singularly unimpressed I was. "Bar Reunion," how fitting… how literal and utterly without subtlety. How "Captain John Hart." I can't believe that Jack knew this guy. Partners? With him? Can't believe Tosh finds him cute. Can't believe we'll be working with him, helping him. Can't believe Jack ever…

As all six of us headed for the SUV, mentioned to Gwen it'd be a tight fit. Did she want me to get another taxi? This Captain John sidles up to me and says it's no problem, and asks if I'd like to ride on his lap, wherever we're going. I didn't have time to shudder before Jack yanked him away from me. Jack kept between us the rest of the way back and I think I heard him growl at his 'partner' that if he didn't stay away from me, radiation bombs would be the least of his worries. Jack hasn't spoken a dozen words to me since he came back, but if any of that just then was jealousy… or protectiveness… then maybe… I don't know. But then again, don't even know what I'd want from Jack anymore anyway. Never knew what I was to him, even back when we… let alone now. Maybe its all nothing. Watching the two of them now, on the CCTV up on the Plass, does Jack look like he feels anything for this guy? Then again, to someone watching us, would it look like Jack ever felt anything for me?

Jack and Gwen have disappeared down the hallway. What do they talk about? Does Jack say the same things to her that he does to me, when we're alone? That he used to say to me? Has he noticed the ring on her finger? Will it make a difference? Is there anyone I won't feel jealous being around Jack? (Maybe Owen.) In any case, I'm here making coffee for… our guest. Think he's staring at me, or at least at my back, as I refuse to turn around and look at him. I can feel it, though. Yep, can see his reflection in the teakettle. Why do I have to baby-sit? He makes me so uncomfortable. Wish Jack or Gwen would come back. He's still staring. Where's Owen anyway? Tosh is at her station, collecting data and trying to pose for… him, but it's no good. He's still staring at me. What did he mean, Time Agents? That's not Torchwood, nor is it U.N.I.T. Was that from before? Before Jack was even 'Jack?' Does he know Jack's real name? 2 weeks. 5 years. Partners? In every way? Still staring. WHAT?

'Just waiting for my chance to taste your coffee.' He said. Taste my coffee? You have got to be kidding. Eye contact and smile. Cream and sugar? 'Oh! Yes! Please!' is everything that man says an innuendo? He actually moaned as he sipped the coffee. That Ianto Jones action figure is going to need new batteries by the truck-load. The blush feature really drains them fast. Where is Jack?

This guy cannot be for real. And Gwen, flirting like that in the meeting. Was that for Jack's benefit? Or is she actually interested in Hart? She can't be taken in by him. 'With eyes like yours…' Please! Too annoying. And kiddies, remember not to open the deadly radioactive canisters. Really? Now that I think about it, why did Gwen pair me with Jack? Sure it puts her with Captain Jerk, but why couldn't she have put me with Tosh or Owen? Speaking of Tosh and Owen, they're gone already. Probably already halfway to their canister by now. Gwen and the Captains… (sounds like a music act from the 70's) they're still in the conference room. What are the three of them still doing in there? No, really don't want to know.

Spent all that time dreading being alone in the SUV with Jack, but he's been on a call with U.N.I.T. most of the entire ride. Since I've started writing this, he's finished the call, but I must look busy. Think he's glanced at me a few times, like he was going to say something, but hasn't. Hey! Two more words from Jack since he came back: 'We're here.'

Looking back, the rest of the night is a blur. A blur of fear and adrenalin, punctuated with moments so clear and sharp and wonderful. So as Jack and I arrived at the coordinates for our canister, Jack was up to a whole dozen words spoken to me since his return. Guess he wasn't sure what to say, either. We arrived on the top floor and all of a sudden he's whittering on about inappropriate office behavior and how much it turns him on. He's trying to keep it light. He really doesn't know what to say to me either. All I know is I don't want the jokes, the innuendo. Not until I can figure things out. I tried to remain serious. Hope he'd take the hint. He did. He asked how I was. Good, safe question. Doesn't give anything away. Very Jack. Smile and eye contact. Just like old times. Jack specifically asks me to stop calling him sir (had I? I guess I had. As I said, like old times.) Then Jack specifically asks me out on a date. My mind flashes back to New Years. Don't want to end up Weevil hunting again. My mind was racing. Sorry to say, this time it was I who deflected. I didn't answer directly. Back to business… lighter, hopeful, but still… business. And I asked Jack, why he wanted to help Hart (hoping that Jack didn't hear that little stammer.) What I think I'm really asking is now he's back, and now his (ex?) partner is here, why he's suddenly asking me out on a first date. Jack says Hart is part of his past and wants him gone (and does that make me part of his future?) I guess maybe it does, because he's persistent, asked me straight-out if I was saying yes to the date. Yes. And yes again. No chance I want to be misunderstood.

Life at Torchwood often goes from one extreme to the next. I was excited. Jack still wanted me. By the offer of a date, and not just a request for something… physical, I found myself hoping that all my worries in the past had been of my own creation. That maybe Jack really did feel for me something of what I'd felt for him for so long. This was all mixed with the usual sense of worry about the radiation bombs, getting John Hart back out of Jack's life, whether the pterodactyl would respond to the signal and come home… but I felt as good as I had in a long time and happy at the prospect of Jack. A proper date? What should I wear? Would there be dancing? And of course, that's when it all went wrong. The elevator bell rang, announcing its arrival. But who? A question answered all too predictably: that bastard Hart. He'd done something to the rest of the team and was granting me a small opportunity to save them. The way he rubbed the gun against my skin as he made his threats, I wondered if Jack's warning earlier was all that had kept me from a worse fate. All the while not knowing if the others were even still alive… Fear that I had the opportunity, but wouldn't be able to act in time, or do the right things. Like the Blowfish had said. That they would die, not just from what this bastard had done to them, but because I was the only one left to save them.

The frustration was maddening. Called Jack to warn him, but he didn't answer. I have the feeling he already knew that Hart had betrayed him. Maybe he even always knew that it would happen. But knowing Jack, I realized that he wouldn't need my help. That he'd be fine. That no matter what else, Jack was good at taking care of himself. So there I was driving 70 on city streets, speeding to the rescue, and I'm passed by another car. Is Owen right? Am I too careful? My friends were injured, dying… hit 90 by the time I got to Owen and Tosh's warehouse. Broke the lock to get in. They were injured, but alive. We made our way to Gwen's location and Tosh found her as well. Poisoned and locked in an empty freight container. Left to die, alone and paralyzed. How could Jack have ever worked with a killer like him? Been with a killer like him?

We circled back to find Jack. He was sitting on a bench at the front entrance, waiting for us. Hart had all three of his canisters. All that remained was to find out what they really were, and to stop him from using them. As Jack and I headed back to the SUV, where the others waited, I tried to hand him the keys. Jack asked me to drive for him. Think his back was giving him problems, undoubtedly Hart's doing. As we walked I couldn't help but reach over and rub Jack's back. Also couldn't help but notice that it made Jack smile.

Ever the one to make an entrance, Jack waited in the hub for the… opportune moment. The look on Hart's face, from arrogant to aghast. Priceless. He was cornered and he knew it. Always trying to manipulate, make the deal. Why was he looking at me when he suggested an orgy? So that's where we are now. God, that came out wrong. Jack, Owen, Tosh, Gwen and I were **standing** here. We've spent the last half hour discussing what to do about Hart. For a minute I was worried that Jack was actually considering Hart's last 'offer.' Think he finally realized I didn't find it amusing and dropped the joke. Jack has decided to take the diamond and lock Hart in the vaults, 'til a more permanent solution can be found. Owen wants to just shove him into a Weevil den, says it's what he deserves for killing the woman. Have to say I'm with Owen on this one. Don't much like the idea of having Jack's ex-'partner-in-every-way' locked in the vaults, even if Jack has made it clear what's past and what's future. Right now Jack and Tosh are over running a few more scans of the canisters, double-checking that there really isn't any radiation involved before we open them. Hart is getting a preview of the vault accommodations. Was wondering, that fourth piece, he got that from the Blowfish. We're they working together? Had Hart sent the Blowfish to lure us? Was that how the fish had known all about Torchwood? About all of us? How much of this had Hart planned? Maybe Jack will reconsider Owen's idea.

So we had the pieces of the alien puzzle. Jack was making Hart get the diamond out, and once again, the Universe had other plans. Plans that included a trap, a bomb, a hostage, a willingness to sacrifice and a last minute rescue. Have to admit, I found the situation funny, right-up until the bastard cuffed himself to Gwen. Why does he insist on looking at me every time he suggests the orgy? In any case, Owen's quick thinking saved the day and we were rid of Hart once and for all. (Still don't know why Tosh resisted my idea to just cut Hart's hand off. She said that it'd detonate the bomb, but her explanation of why didn't make sense. Think after all that, she still thought he was cute… and didn't want the blood.) In any event, Hart is gone, back through the Rift. As he left, I swear his eyes flashed a red glow, like the nasty little demon spawn that he was. And that leaves us here now, back at the beginning of the night, stuck with avoiding ourselves or face some inconceivable time paradox. Jack did suggest that he'd be willing to risk the paradox, that maybe the two of us could track-down our earlier selves and… I looked him straight in the eye when I told him that neither the earlier me, nor the current me was about to be that easy… And that neither of us appreciates the constant offers for orgies.

We had parked the red sports car where it wouldn't be seen by our other, earlier selves, in a spot near the castle. While we sat on a bench in the park and waited for the others to pick us up in the SUV, Jack had turned and asked me where we'd been. He said that he'd been, 'back for a few days now, waiting, looking all over Cardiff for you.' To which I replied, "Oh really? Days? I've been damn well looking for you for months. Not knowing where you were... if you were… While you were away with that 'Doctor' of yours. Where have YOU been? You selfish, self-centered bastard!" Well, okay… it all came out as: "Tibet." But I think I made myself clear anyway, what with the roll of the eyes, and all. Jack then turned his head and held it there while he continued to hold my gaze. He does that on purpose. He knows it accentuates his jaw line and the cleft chin. He knows how I feel… felt… feel about the jaw and the chin. It would be so easy to…

Jack. Think he assumes we'll just pick-up where we left off, before he left me… That's just not how it's gonna be. Whatever the reason he left, the reason he doesn't tell me, he still left. He's going to have to earn me back this time. This time he's going to have to put a little more effort into it, into me, into us. I won't be won by some occasional attention and random flirtation. And he better not think I'm willing to be one of many. If that's what he wants, then he doesn't want me. This time, Jack, you're going to have to work for it. Because I'm worth it.


	27. Nothing Changes

So there we were, left with a night to re-live differently. What I would give to be able to do that on demand… sometimes. Imagine, to be able to change the past. But what would I do differently, really? It's easy to say if only I could change this or that, what happened when, and what if I'd only… but in the end, would I have anything changed? Would I risk missing anything of what I have now, who I am now? Doesn't really matter, I suppose. Don't have a time machine, just a few hours of reset. Gwen wants to go and watch ourselves for a bit. 'See what we look like in action.' Jack says no. Too much risk of a paradox if we caught even a glimpse of our future selves. As such, we all agreed that the best way to avoid the risk of running into ourselves was to do something we simply normally wouldn't do. But just what is the last thing Torchwood Three would ever do again? Owen said it before I could stop him: Karaoke. Gwen latched hold of the idea and wouldn't let it go, no matter how emphatically Owen insisted he'd only suggested it sarcastically. Gwen and Tosh were both enthusiastic as they'd apparently had so much fun last time. Jack was amazed that we'd gone out together while he was gone. At that point Gwen got defensive, insisted that we'd done a lot while he was gone, and besides it would be something to do while we decided what to do next. So off we went. Once there, Jack was just like he'd never left, never been away. I mean that in all the worst ways: flirting with the hostess for a good table, with the waiter for quick drink delivery, with the couple at the next table… just because. After all that in the office building, asking me out, the nervous, sincere act. Nothing's changed. The second we're back with the team, I'm back to being a piece of furniture. After all his earnestness earlier that evening, kinda pissed me off. Recon it's my fault, though. Should have realized nothing was ever going to change, least of all Jack.

So Tosh had this brilliant idea, we'd take turns choosing music genres for each other. To start us off, Tosh chose Heavy Metal for Gwen. Not a pretty sight, but Gwen had fun. Next was Owen's choice for me. Please, be kind… no. Course not. He looked at me and smirked, 'Disco.' What did I ever do to you? Disco. Brilliant. So there I was looking over a depressing song list. I glanced at Jack who was chatting with yet another waiter who was passing by with a tray of drinks. My vision narrowed and I made my choice. I include here, for all posterity, select lyrics to my disco karaoke statement as sung to Capt. Jack Heartless:

_First I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side. But I spent oh so many nights just thinking how you did me wrong… I grew strong. I learned how to carry on. And so you're back… from outer space. I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face. I should have changed my stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key, If I had known for just one second, you'd be back to bother me. Go on now… go. Walk out the door. Just turn around now… 'cause you're not welcome anymore. Weren't you the one who tried to hurt me with goodbye? You think I'd crumble? You think I'd lay down and die? Oh no, not I! I will survive! As long as I know how to love,  
I know I'll stay alive. I've got all my life to live, I've got all my love to give, and I'll survive. I will survive_

_It took all the strength I had not to fall apart. Kept trying hard to mend the pieces of my broken heart and I spent oh so many nights just feeling sorry for myself. I used to cry. Now I hold my head up high. And you see me, somebody new. I'm not that chained up little person still in love with you. And so you felt like dropping in, and just expect me to be free. Now I'm saving all my loving  
for someone who's loving me._

While I had (almost) obviously sung it at him, I absolutely refused to look at Jack as I resumed my seat. Could feel it, though, he was staring at me. Hope he got the message. But now it was my turn to choose a genre for Owen. I could have been kind, let the whole Disco-thing go. Nope. Already had my choice for Owen: Mod/Ska. Also knew that particular listing only had two selections, both from the same group, Madness. Owen gets _Our House_ or _On the Wings of a Dove_. He looked absolutely mortified. Revenge, best served hot. Don't mess with Karaoke Tea-boy. Gwen just giggled hysterically, Tosh hid her face behind a hand and Jack, yep… still watching me. (Didn't look at him long enough to decipher his look.) Owen got up, and immediately sat back down. Gwen pushed him up on stage as his music started. _Our House _it is then. He tried to leave the stage and sit back down again, but Jack gestured pointedly at the stage and microphone. Owen was discovering new shades of red. (So his action figure will need the blush-feature as well as kung-fu kick.) Have to say, the first few bars were awkward, strained and quiet. I nudged Tosh and we started to sway together, side to side to the beat. Owen stood on the stage, singing with a grimace, through gritted teeth. Tosh nudged Gwen and she joined in our swaying, all of us now with arms raised overhead, a little hop at the end of each sway (still the cryptic look on Jack's face as he spent more time watching us than Owen.) As the three of us moved to his tune, Owen choked a bit and started to laugh; then he took the microphone off the stand and actually began to enjoy himself. By the end, the audience enjoyed it too.

So as the evening wore on, Tosh wanted another song, but it had to be a duet with me. Why? Don't think I'm the one to choose if you're trying to make Owen jealous. Still don't know what exactly the song was, but it was drippingly romantic, so I sang my part to everyone in the room, everyone that is, except Jack. I was bent on showing him that if we resumed anything, it was going to be under a new set of rules. And if I could be ignored, so could he. In any case, the evening progressed and as we were approaching what would be our last round of songs, we still hadn't determined what to do next. Tosh, full of innovative inspiration tonight, proposed a contest: the one of us who elicited the biggest response from the crowd would get to decide. So the one with the best total audience reaction would win… and get to choose what we all did next. No debates. Winner chooses, period. I hazarded a glance at Jack when Tosh said that. The expression he returned clearly indicated that he had already worked-out his plans for the two of us… No debate. I've seen that look before, just not in a very long time. Owen and Gwen declared themselves clearly out of the competition. Tosh sang, but opted for a slow sad song. It was beautiful, but too sad for a frenzied crowd cheer. Like a shark sensing blood in the water, Jack's competitive side is a force to be reckoned with. The look in his eye declared he believed victory was within his grasp. Jack's turn did result in exactly that kind of frenzied reaction that Tosh's had lacked. While I didn't call him on it, I did also sense a rather strong dose of those 51st century pheromones in the air. He cheats. He always cheats. I looked at the list of songs and searched for anything I thought could evoke a strong enough audience response. Strong enough to save me from that look in Jack's eye. Then it hit me… want a response from a slightly drunk Welsh audience? What else could I do? I chose my song, and my fate. My music started and Jack looked confused, then he looked confidant that I'd made a mistake, or given up (worse still, that I was giving in to him.) Could see him lean to Tosh and ask her, but she looked just as bewildered. Gwen however, understood. A smile grew across her face and I could see her yell in Jack's ear, 'He's won it now.' Yes, late-night karaoke contest in Cardiff, my only chance lay with Tom Jones and _It's Not Unusual_. I must say the audience did seem to react well and by the end, I was actually showered with various pieces of underwear. I understand this is not usually the case in karaoke. I hazarded a glance at Jack. He had that grin I remember all too well. The one that told me I'd won, but also that I'd better watch-out. He mouthed the question, 'How?' I just smiled and looked away from him, but in the end, as I walked behind him to resume my seat, I couldn't help but lean over slightly and whisper "Local knowledge."

In working to make sure Jack didn't have any call to claim that in agreeing to the contest I'd agreed to do **anything** he wanted for the rest of the night, I'd neglected to consider that as winner what the five of us did the rest of the night was now up to me. As we stood in the chill of the night outside the club, I realized I had absolutely no ideas. 'So, what's it gonna be?' Got the distinct feeling that Jack's question meant more than just for tonight, but felt it best to indicate that I hadn't taken any double entendre. My mind raced. Luckily enough as I stalled for time, glancing around the skyline, a bright light caught my attention… the curved roof of St. David's Hotel and Spa. "There." I pointed. Jack raised an eyebrow, the left one… he was reading extra into my choice. Before he could make a remark about Hart's earlier orgy suggestions I added, "Spa treatments all around. Jack's treat." Everyone agreed that a luxury hotel and spa would be a welcome change. And that, if Jack was paying, there were treatments they'd always wanted to try. As we climbed into the taxi, Jack sidled up behind me and asked how many rooms he'd need to be requesting. "Five," I said without a pause. "Unless of course you'll be wanting to share with Owen. Have to warn you, though… he snores." Eye contact and smile.

Jack checked us in and I have to say, I could get used to this. Somehow I don't think this is a standard room, even here. Always have liked showers, but just couldn't resist that bathtub, or the complementary robe. Now I'm looking at the bed with the down pillows and 3000 thread-count sheets… There was a knock at the door and sure enough, it was Jack. Thought it best not to open the door. Bit cowardly, maybe, but if I pretend I'm already asleep, don't answer the door, I won't have to resist. He's been waiting in the hall for more than five minutes, now. If I look again and he's still there…

Jack was just leaving when I looked again. Still really love that coat. Looked maybe a little sad walking away down the corridor (Jack, not the coat.) Although I did notice that the coat was looking a little sad as well. I'll have to give it some extra attention (the coat, not Jack.) Can't help but wonder now, if I did the right thing not opening the door. No doubt it would have been incredible, but it would have been the same as before, before he left. He comes around when no one else is there. He's attentive, and wonderful, and everything, as long as no one else knows. If the rest of the team is there its back to, 'How 'bout some coffee magic?' All of us out tonight and he's flirting with anyone and everyone. I did the right thing, not letting him in. But I should have opened the door. Told him how when he flirts with anything with a pulse, that it makes me feel like shit. Even now I wonder where he's gone. Because I didn't open the door, did he simply go and find someone else? If I went down to his room right now, would he be there? Would he be alone? Is this ever going to work? Hope things are clearer/ better in the morning. I can't change Jack. I can only hope that he wants me enough to want to make me happy. I could be so happy with Jack.

* * *

Call from Gwen early this morning, woke me up, asking if I wanted to go for the seaweed-wrap-at-sunrise. Why not? Turns out it was just Gwen, Tosh and I. Really hope she doesn't think of me as one of her girlies. Ah well. At least my pores feel revived.

Met up with everyone at breakfast, where Owen apologized to Gwen for the obscenities when she woke him up with the invitation for the 'seaweed thing.' Guess the invite wasn't a 'just us girls' thing. Good. Jack was late joining us. Tried to make my lack of eye-contact a little less than obvious. Really didn't want to know where he was last night. If I looked at him I might have guessed. Didn't have to… Owen asked. Closed my eyes and took a deep breath, waiting to hear the answer I didn't want to know. When I opened my eyes, Jack was looking at me, as if waiting for me. I almost looked away, but if there was ever to be any hope for it to work between us, in a way that won't kill me, I have to learn to meet Jack on my own terms. I didn't look away, and neither did he, when he answered, 'On the roof. St. David's has one of my favourite views.' Tosh asked if he'd been there **all** night. Still looking at me: Yep.

So Jack wanted everyone to get the most of their spa day, even though the danger of paradox had now passed and we could return to the hub at any time. As we sat with the spa menu, nothing really seemed enticing. Owen chose a massage. Asked if anyone wanted to go with, but Jack said that it wasn't worth it, that 'No one gives a back-rub as good as Ianto anyway.' As I wasn't about to offer to demonstrate, Owen left for his rub-down. In light of their strained relationship as of late, I'd suggested earlier that Gwen call Rhys and invite him to join her. So she's off to meet him for some volcanic mud-bath. Since Owen hadn't specifically invited Tosh to join him at the massage, she decided that she was going to go for a facial and disappeared shortly thereafter. At that point, it didn't take advanced levels of maths to determine that Jack and I were left alone together. I thought it'd turn into an uncomfortable silence, but it didn't. We sat together for sometime before Jack mentioned that he'd stopped by my room last night… twice. Really? (First time must've been while I was in the bath.) Hmmm, whatever for? 'I think you know.' No, not really. 'Ianto…' Jack… 'Are you going to tell me what's wrong?' Whatever do you mean? 'Ianto.' Jack. 'You can be so frustrating sometimes.' Would've thought you'd have been out tracking down that waiter from last night, not lurking around my door. 'What waiter? Ianto, I'm not… I didn't… I wouldn't…' Prove it. (And with that, I left him sitting there, alone.)

Couldn't have been back in my room five minutes when there was another knock at the door. His knock. This time I answered it. Didn't however, invite him in. didn't even stand back. And apparently none of that mattered. Jack came in anyway. I thought that it'd get ugly. That he was either going to push, or yell, or something. Anything but what he did do… apologize. He stood in the middle of my hotel room and apologized for leaving without a word, for taking me for granted, for flirting with others, and for not treating me like I deserved. I stood, rather dumbfounded. He really seemed to mean every word. Must admit that I began to wonder if it was all just what he thought I wanted to hear. What he thought would be needed for him to get what he wanted from me. That if he felt that it'd have an influence on me, that he'd go in for a kiss, or something more. Instead, he continued… that while he was away, he'd had some time to think about it all. That he realized that for him, flirting was something that couldn't be controlled, a reflex, a compulsion. "Like Tourette's?" I couldn't help asking. A smile. I'm sorry, Ianto. For you, I will try to control it.' It's part of who you are Jack, and a large part of your charm. The flirting has hurt. I'll admit that. But not half so much as not knowing how much of it you follow through with, and with whom. Jack closed the distance between us and took my chin in the cup of his hand. I couldn't help but close my eyes and lean into his touch. When I opened them again, Jack was watching me and smiling that small smile, the one that crinkles his eyes just a little. He promised me that I'd been the only one. Since the first time we ever… that I'd been the only one. And for him, that was even longer than I knew. (Was that one of those Jack-says-more-than-he-would-otherwise-simply-because-I-wouldn't-understand-the-reference-anyway things?) He said he flirts with almost anyone, but I was the only one with whom he followed-through. Then he said that I was the only one with whom he wanted to follow-through. I realized I hadn't said anything in quite a while. I think I was worried about saying the wrong thing. I was dangerously close to giving in all over again. My mind spun and my head reeled. A knock at the door and a call of housekeeping interrupted my acquiescence. 'Well hello…' Jack turned and smiled at her as the uniformed woman entered. 'Have you come to join us?' with that grin of his, the broad one. I must have sighed audibly as Jack turned back to me with a, 'What?' He stepped aside to reveal a housekeeper old enough to be my grandmother… or Jack's. Couldn't help but laugh. Jack's right. A bird's gotta fly, a dog's gotta bark, and Jack… Jack's gotta flirt. We stood together on the balcony and watched boats in the bay. I told him what I expected if we were going to be anything in the future. That I could deal with the flirting, if he could dial it back a bit… and never follow-up with anyone but me. While I didn't expect a dozen roses sent to me at the hub… for him to acknowledge my existence in the presence of the others. Eventually, I expect the others to know about… us. That while I was glad he was back, I was not going to jump right back to where we left-off. That if he wanted to get to that point, he was going to have to work at it. And if he ever even considered leaving without a word again… I would in fact hunt him down through time and space and kill him until he actually did die. To all this he just said, 'Agreed.' And kissed me. How I missed that kiss. How I missed Jack. And if it hadn't have been check-out time… how I would have given-in to him.

Now that we're all back at the hub, the pterodactyls back home, Jack's back and the office is his again, the world just seems as it should be. And if that weren't reason enough to be happy, now we can finally get rid of Gwen's driving rota.

Nothing changes. Not a single damn thing ever fucking changes. After all that at St. David's, Jack will still not acknowledging my existence in front of anyone else. And I'm sick to bloody death of it. I thought he understood. He seemed to understand, but still… only when we're alone. The rest of today, I've done all I can not to be left alone in a room with Jack. Think he's started to notice, finally. He's asked me to stay late tonight to help him with paperwork. Told him that all the paperwork's up to date… has been since Gwen was in charge. Now I wish I hadn't phrased it like that, he seemed to wince, but it hurts when he continues to treat me like the office-boy. I couldn't help it… and I shouldn't care.

Jack tried to invite himself back to mine tonight. Told him Tosh was there. He looked as confused as I expected he would. "Yes, Jack. Tosh and I are living together. Have been since it didn't work out with Owen. You did miss a lot while you were gone." That wince again. I'm punishing him, aren't I? Well, isn't like he doesn't deserve it or anything.

Alone again. Well, not completely alone. Tosh is in her room, but already asleep. The light on the answer-phone is still blinking 27. Of those, 24 of them are from Glynis Johns. It's nice to feel wanted, but by the 19th message or so… I'll have to give her a call in the morning.

* * *

Watching the local early news this morning. With all the associated theatrics, the weather guy stood there in a parka, saying how cold it was going to be today. Just had to laugh. After our time in Tibet, this is shorts weather. (Well, not for me, it's a work day.) Too early to call Glynis, I'll have to do it from work. What am I going to say to her anyway? The date was wonderful and we really seemed to hit it off, but that was while Jack was gone. Now he's back… but then again… is he back? Are we back? Until we get this ironed-out, once and for all, why shouldn't I see Glynis again? It'd serve Jack right.

Reports of a strange glowing light in a Tesco last night. Tosh and I went to check on it on the way in to the hub. Nothing alien, purely electrical. The associated Rift spike was apparently nothing. While we were driving, Tosh was fighting with her scanner calibration, so not much for conversation (apart from an occasional burst of those colourful adjectives she doesn't use in front of the others.) As such, I had some time to think. One last try. Depending on what Jack does or doesn't do, says or doesn't say to me this morning, that's when I'll decide what to tell Glynis when I call her back.

When we finally made it in (stopped to pick-up some supplies while we were at the shops) everyone else was settled down to some task or the other. So what, exactly, was I expecting from Jack? A hug and a kiss with a 'Missed you.' in the middle? No, but something more than, 'So NOW can I get some coffee?' Called Glynis. She's in town tonight and will pick me up at the Tourist Office at 6p.m.

Jack was in his office, leafing through all of Gwen's reports, when I took him his coffee. He asked if I'd written the one he'd just read. Went around behind his chair to see. Yep, one of mine. Then he said he was pretty sure I hadn't written this other one, and pulled another folder from the stack… my annual employee review. Asked him if was as bad as all that. Just the opposite, apparently. Jack said he knew that I hadn't written my own review, because it was 'glowing.' I didn't say anything (somewhat because at Torchwood, 'glowing' could mean just that… but mostly because standing this close behind Jack, all I wanted to do was put my arms around him and never let go.) Jack opened the file and quoted: 'Still occasionally lacks the confidence that his skills and knowledge warrant; …other team members frequently request to be partnered with…; problem solver; …anticipation of team needs that borders on Para-normal, coupled with his unswerving willingness to assist in all phases…; ultimate team player; loyalty re-defined.' Jack looked-up at me, that look where he cocks his head left and raises an eyebrow before continuing, 'So what, exactly, happened while I was gone? If I didn't know better, I'd be getting jealous right about now.' So does this mean a raise? His eyebrow arched higher, but I'd maintained the gaze, I could feel the scant smile on my lips. Moments passed, but I still didn't look away. Finally Jack answered, 'Yeah, I'd say you're ready for a raise.' He moved his arm around behind me, what I recognized as a move that would result in him pulling me towards him, hugging my legs. From where I stood, I could see Jack's view, out across the hub, of everyone else's backs, bent in concentration over their individual tasks. No one could see us. The only time Jack would ever be willing to express affection. I dodged his arm and moved from behind his desk. As I did so, I informed him that I'd need to be leaving at 6 tonight. By the time he asked, 'Why's that?' I was already at the door. I didn't look back as I answered, "Date."

Tosh has informed me that Jack has been asking everyone about who I was 'dating.' I love my teammates. Each and every one of them gave him the perfect answer. According to Tosh, Gwen told him about Stephan the Viking flight attendant who left his phone number in my carry-on bag and about Glynis, while Owen had told Jack about the girl at the airline ticket counter who was expecting a date (Note to self: find her number and call Cho,) plus several people we'd met on our nights out, as well as on the Tibet trip. Tosh, bless her, had the best response of the lot, 'If you're interested, why don't you ask Ianto?' She says Jack got all flustered at that. I would have loved to see that, Jack flustered. Do have to wonder what the others all thought of the situation, why Jack would be asking about me in the first place, and all.

It's almost 6. Jack's been hovering. When I look, he looks away, like he doesn't want me to know he's been watching me. Wish he'd just realize I love it when he watches me. Wish he'd do it more. But what it all comes down to, Jack is a bit jealous. And I love it.

At 6, I had popped into Jack's office to remind him that I'd be leaving. Just as I'd expected, he didn't look up from the file on his desk when he just said, 'Yeah. I know.' I think I felt a little guilty as I took the stairs up to the Tourist Office. The guilt wasn't towards Jack, but towards Glynis. I realized that, as nice as she was, as fun to be with, as beautiful and as sweet, I was never going to love her. I was never going to feel for her the way I felt for Jack. I felt like I was using her in my quest to punish Jack, to teach him a lesson, to make him jealous, and to make him want me. I didn't want to use Glynis. That night I told her. Glynis was sweet and understanding. She said she'd known all along that I couldn't have been unattached, that she'd suspected I'd just had a fight or something back then, that she should have known. We still had a pleasant night together, friends. As I walked her to her hotel, she asked if I was sure that I wasn't interested. I didn't have to say anything. As I smiled at her, she lightly stroked the side of my mouth and kissed me on the cheek before disappearing behind her hotel room door.

* * *

Tosh was still sleeping when I left for work this morning. I left her a note and her breakfast in the oven, and made my way in to work, alone. Jack was nowhere to be seen when I entered the hub and headed for the coffee station. I was grinding beans when I heard him behind me. 'You're in early.' I could say the same of you. 'So… how was… The Date?' Fine, thanks. Coffee won't be but a minute. 'Ianto…' Jack… 'Don't start that again…' It's what we do, isn't it? As I measured the ground coffee into the filter, I could feel him watching me. Then I felt his arms around me as he stood against my back, taking the measuring scoop and filter basket from my hands, he placed them on the counter. He put his arms around me. My head, purely of its own accord, leaned back, resting itself on his shoulder and against Jack's head. He rubbed his cheek gently against mine before speaking, 'I'm sorry.' You've said that. 'But I mean it. Really.' You want to mean it. And I appreciate that. But I need more, Jack. I've spent too long being invisible. 'IantoJones.' (He knows how I feel when he says my name like that. The thought flashed across my mind, that he was manipulating me again.) Then he said it again, 'IantoJones… you could never be invisible.' I _feel_ invisible, Jack. 'You can't be invisible, Ianto. If you were, what would they all be looking at?' Jack rotated his body to face out into the hub. Pressed against him as I was, I followed. There stood all three, Tosh, Gwen and Owen. Jack took my head in his hands and rotated me to face him, into a kiss, bending me over backwards into a dip, as if we were dancing, all the while our lips never parting from each other's. I could hear a distant sound, as if the sound of drums, or fireworks, or applause. I probably needed to breathe, but would not have broken the kiss for anything, including my own life. Slowly, lingeringly, Jack eventually pulled back and smiled at me, slightly panting and out of breath, 'Visible enough for you? IantoJones.'

I swear that life, the universe and everything is out to get me. There and then, after all that, after Jack commits to us publicly… okay, commits isn't the right word… admits. After Jack admits to us publicly, I am happier than I think I have ever been in my entire life, and that's when it all had to go so terribly pear-shaped. Finally the rest of Torchwood 3 knows about Jack and me. It's not a secret anymore... And, while it may be for completely different reasons, of course now they all need to be retconned.


	28. There's Something About Jack

The retcon isn't because of what happened at the coffee station, it's because of a little red box. Jack says he can't explain it to me completely, due to some statute of a 'shadow proclamation law,' whatever that means. He isn't allowed to spread knowledge of 'their existence on certain class worlds' (!?!) He said he can only tell me about it in limited, sketchy terms or he'll have to retcon me as well. Okay, Jack tells me that the retcon isn't at all because of what happened at the coffee station. The others also claim that it's all because of the box, so I chose to believe him. I have to start trusting him again… sometime… I suppose I should start at the beginning.

Okay. So, after The Kiss, I was in a rather good mood (I should have known better.) Tosh kept smiling at me and giving me the thumbs-up. Odd looks from Gwen and Owen but I didn't care enough to figure out why. Lunchtime came around and I thought I'd order us all something to celebrate. (Okay, I'll admit that the idea of splitting a side of egg rolls with Jack had crossed my mind. Offering to feed him one off my chopsticks in the middle to the conference room, and all.) So in calling the restaurant, apparently the regular delivery driver for Mister Lu's had been in a bit of a collision last night. No delivery, could I pick it up instead? Sure. Why not? They'd given me the address and directions and I'd hung up before I realized that I couldn't find a pen. I always have a pen… and a spare. Looking all over, the directions fading slowly from conscious recollection, I desperately looked for a pen. Where do they all get to, do they hide? A pen! A pen! My kingdom for a pen! Then, to top it all off, I'm under the desk looking for a pen that may have fallen and the phone rings. In fact, it won't stop ringing and voicemail isn't picking-up. I answer and it's some girl trying to sell me a miracle weight-loss pill. As an incentive, wants to give me a gold necklace with purchase. What do I want with an 18kt gold weight-loss-pill-shaped necklace? When all I really need is a pen. Fat lot of good she was, she couldn't get me a pen either.

It wasn't anything, but it was the start of the downwards spiral of my day. So with half-remembered directions, I found the restaurant (and I must admit, if I'd ever actually seen the place, I probably would never have ordered food from them. But as we've been ordering from them for a couple of years now and nobody's died from it yet…) Got the lunch, and got back to the hub to be greeted by Owen, 'Bet you're glad you missed it. But you always miss it." Miss what? That's when Jack hit me with the news of the need to retcon everyone else. Seems Gwen had opened that little red box on Jack's bookshelf, the one labeled 'DO NOT OPEN. EVER!' Jack told me that he was immune to the thing, but that the others would need to 'loose their memories or risk loosing themselves.' Brilliant Jack… you can't tell me what's going on, but you can put statements like that out there.

It would seem that as some minor chemical component of retcon would kill whatever it was as well as make them forget its existence. They'd take the pill and be down for lunch in a few minutes. In any case, while I set out lunch in the conference room, Jack administered the retcon in his office. Since it was only a half-dose of level one retcon, and they didn't need the sedative portion, they were up and ready to eat with only a mild disorientation. Owen kept insisting he'd only just had breakfast. He ate, however, like breakfast had been last week. Over lunch Jack handed-out some new projects. And for the first time I was included. My own special project. Sure, it was still research, but it wasn't the usual 'we need a quick report as we go into battle' thing. This was a long-term project on, of all people, the royal family. Their blood-lines, any abnormalities. He didn't give me too much to go on, for fear of it directing my research, but Jack said to just look for anything… 'alien-ish.' Wonder if he suspects something specific. Wouldn't it be funny if they all turned out to be vampires or something? Anyway… perhaps I should get on with the… events. I'm probably just putting off putting to paper all that happened later.

Lunch done and meeting adjourned. I was cleaning up the cartons when Jack came back in. There was strange look on his face. Not really concern, or confusion, but a mix. There was also something else. Something I didn't recognize, and it was something I didn't like. I asked him if there was something wrong. He looked at me like he'd never seen me before in all his long life. Then there seemed to be a slow, dawning realization and he said no, he just couldn't remember why he'd come into the room. "Couldn't be to help me carry out the rubbish, could it?" He stared at me a moment and finally said, 'No. That wasn't it.' and left without further comment. At the time I thought it was a joke and nothing more.

Owen, Tosh and Gwen went to check out a minor Rift flare. (Which, it turned out, amounted to absolutely nothing.) While they were gone I started in on my new project. Jack came and stood behind me. I could feel the heat from his body and leant back until I was up against him. He took a half step back and I almost fell off the chair. I turned to look up at him, but his look was utterly blank, the look one would give a stranger. Asked him if there was something I could help him with. He just turned and walked away to his office. When the others returned I asked them if they'd noticed anything strange about Jack lately. Apparently not.

The afternoon progressed. I pulled some files from the archive and when I returned Jack and Gwen were laughing over something or the other. He seemed back to his old self. I was just beginning to think that maybe it was just me. Off kind of day, or some such.

Still later, however, I was down in the vaults feeding the weevils and noticed a shadow in the corner. Like it was watching me. It startled me, 'til I realized it was just Jack. I smiled, raised the bucket in a gesture of "Hello." I closed the cell door and turned. The shadow was gone. At that point I was sure it was just me, a lack of sleep or something. Imagining things. As I returned to the hub I glanced around for Jack, but he wasn't in his office. Had he been in the vaults, watching me? Figured probably not and vowed to just get a better night's sleep tonight. Wasn't back at my project five minutes when I started to get that creepy feeling again, that feeling of being watched. Glanced around, but nothing. Minutes passed, but the feeling didn't. That's when I looked-up and saw him. He was standing on the walkway above, but not forward, not against the railing as he often does. Jack was in the shadows, leaning against the back wall, just in front of the dragon, staring at me. I looked away. When I looked again he hadn't moved. I picked-up a file folder and went to where Owen was bent over some half-dissected… something. When he finished his cut and looked up at me I asked him if he could take a look at some monarchy medical information for me. As he scanned the file I asked him if he'd noticed anything odd going on. He made some comment about me or the way I dressed or something, but other than that, no. I asked him if he'd noticed Jack acting peculiarly this afternoon. Owen then made some comment about Jack never acting exactly normal at any time. When I returned from autopsy, Jack was no longer on the walkway. Checked with both Gwen and Tosh, neither had noticed anything unusual. Once again, I tried my best to shake-off the feeling that something was wrong.

The rest of the day went quietly. I kept my head down over my research and made the occasional foray into the archives for more information. I even Googled the royals. As evening set-in, Jack started to suggest that the reason no one at Torchwood had a life was that they never left. Gwen was the first to bolt with an exclamation, 'Speak for yourself! I have a very nice life waiting for me. Thank you very much." Owen was in his jacket and up the stairs as soon as the half-dissected something was back in cold storage. Tosh was not far behind. Several hours later my eyes were getting too tired to continue my research. Figured it was time to call it a day. As I cleared the usual daily clutter off the desks and into a bin-liner Jack called out and asked for a cup of tea. Little unusual, that. While I've known him to take the occasional cuppa, Jack has almost universally preferred coffee. Just to be sure, I brewed both. I placed the cup and saucer on a tray and took it to where he was standing, staring at the reflective cover of the manipulator. I told him I had his tea.

Jack slapped me. Hard. I was stunned. All I got out was his name, "Jack?" when he hit me again. This time it was a backhand that sent me flying down the steps. I landed hard on my back, hot tea burning through my shirt and waistcoat. I could hear the sound of the teacup shattering at my side, the saucer spinning slowly on its edge until that too, fell and splintered. It was all as if someone had pressed the slow-motion button on the DVD player. I looked-up at Jack. He glared down at me with such a look of disgust and cruel hatred, a scowl contorting the features of his face. I felt a wave of panic, of terror. I ran. In a blinding rush of adrenalin and horror, I fled from Jack. Thinking back, I'm not sure, but I can almost recall an impression… that as I turned to run, I saw him reach for his hip. The place where his holster often rests.

I sat shaking in the back of the labyrinth that is the deep archives, for what must have been an hour, though it felt like several. My mind refused to believe. Jack? My Jack? He'd teased me before, slapped my arse as I walked past, even privately threatened once or twice to put me over his knee if I didn't behave… But never had he… would he… My nerves jumped at every noise, imagined or otherwise. I couldn't tell if sounds were dripping water or bootsteps. I didn't want to know. Eventually I managed to come back to some level of thought. Help. Call for help. I called Owen. No answer, I left a voicemail. Same with Tosh. Rhys answered Gwen's mobile. She was unavailable. I told him it was urgent. He started in on: 'isn't it always', 'never any time off,' 'promised one night alone,' and the usual 'bloody Torchwood.' By the time he was done with his rant, Gwen was back from wherever she'd been and took the phone from him. I tried to explain that there was something wrong with Jack. She tried to soothe me. From her tone of voice and word choice, I must have sounded hysterical. Maybe I was hysterical. I was also, it seemed, on my own.

Don't know how long I'd been in the archives, or what time it was when I finally resolved myself: I had to do something. I had to help Jack. Find what was wrong and fix it. I made my way up to the hub, keeping as best as I could to the shadows. The cog wheel was open. I could get out. Escape. I could have… but at the time, the thought never entered my mind. If I could, however, make it to my desk in the Tourist Office, there might be a chance.

"There's something wrong with Jack." I'd said

'What have you done?' Tosh sounded worried. I didn't look at her

"I had to stop him." I looked at Jack

'Ianto, what have you done?' Gwen had joined her now and I could feel their eyes as they stared at me. She tried that soothing voice; calling me 'Sweetie' and telling me it'll all be okay. I tried to tell them again that there was something wrong with Jack.

'No, that's just what happens when you hit someone with 10,000 volts. Drop the gun, Ianto." Owen had joined the others. I imagined, more than saw them: standing in a line, trying to decide whether to point their weapons at my back or not. Eventually I turned to face them, the stun-gun barely hanging from my numb fingers. It fell to the floor with a plastic clatter. I caught only the briefest glimpse of their faces before their expressions changed. Each of them lowered, then holstered their guns and stared at me. Tosh was the first to run to me, embrace me, followed soon after by Gwen. Owen just clapped a hand on my shoulder before bending to check on Jack, sprawled at my feet.

When I went to splash some water on my face I saw what my teammates had, what had made them lower their weapons. Made them realize I wasn't a threat, realize what had happened. There in the mirror was a face I didn't even recognize. My right eye was swollen almost shut and was surrounded by an angry black and purple bruise. My lower lip was cracked and swollen as well. To complete the picture, a reddish mark raced across my left cheek. If I squinted, I could almost make out the shape of Jack's hand. Emotions welled within me, but I couldn't sort them out, one from the other. In the end I just sat down and cried.

There I sat, knees-up and head down, buried in darkness. It was sometime later that Owen came to check on me. He made a show of being there just to wash his hands. After a moment he gave up the pretense and came and sat next to me on the floor. He didn't say a word, just sat and put his arm around my shoulders until the tears stopped. Then he got up, offered me a towel and then a hand up. When we returned to the hub, I could see Tosh and Gwen trying to look at me, without looking like they were looking at me. Jack was strapped-down on the examination table. Owen had sedated him… heavily.

When Owen ran Jack's blood through analysis, it triggered an automatic data file. Whatever had affected Owen, Gwen and Tosh earlier… as it turns out, Jack wasn't immune to the effects, after all. The data file was a recording of Jack, all smiles. From his hair style, I'd guess it had been recorded more than a few years ago. according to the file, a chemical component in B67 should be all that was required to clear the alien organism, with the happy side effect that you wouldn't remember what you'd said or done while under the influence. A further warning tacked on to the end advised that failure to treat the organism could lead to violence and homicidal rage, often singularly targeted.

When Jack started to wake-up, I was as far away as I could be, without leaving the hub. I wanted to be in Abergavenney. As I stood on the walkway outside the hot house I could see the others clustered around Jack, read what they were saying without hearing a word, their expressions and movements making everything clear:

Jack opened his eyes, looked around, asked what happened. For a moment, no one answered.

Then Gwen explained it, starting with something about the little red box, as she mimed the small cube. She concluded with, 'You were affected, Jack.'

Jack smiled, denied it, grinned. 'No, really.' Jack frowned, 'Okay. If you say so. Everything's fine now? Right?'

The rest of the team looked to where I was standing across the hub. Jack's eyes followed. Even at that distance I could see the look in his eyes, the dawning realization... I looked away.

So Tosh gave me a lift home tonight. I tried to tell them I was fine, I could drive. She just smiled and said it was okay, she was going the same way, anyway. She stayed up with me for a while. I told her I was tired and going to bed. She's asleep now. The whole city's asleep, it's just me. Back at the hub, earlier, Jack had come to me. As he drew closer, he saw the bruises that he'd caused and raised a hand to touch my face…I tried so hard… not to flinch, not to turn away.

* * *

So that was yesterday. This morning the sun is shinning. This morning someone turned off my alarm. This morning I overslept. This morning Tosh made me breakfast. She's so different. It's so different from when Owen was staying. I'm going to miss her when she moves out. (I miss Owen, not that I would ever admit it to him.) Tosh, she doesn't know that I've heard the answer-phone message. I'm loosing my roommate again, her new flat is ready. Alone again… and soon. Right now I'm just waiting for her to choose which shoes to wear before we head in to work. Even though the swelling on my eye has gone down through the night, she still won't let me drive. If this is how Tosh is reacting, I don't know that I'll be able to deal with Gwen.

We ran into Owen in the parking lot (well, not literally.) He was rather annoyed that I was coming in to work at all, today. He said that as my doctor, he should send me home, to rest. I told him it was like falling off a horse… Owen started to say something (and I have a pretty good idea what it would have been) but instead he just frowned and nodded. Gwen caught up with us as we got to the Tourist Office. As we entered together, the others seemed clustered around me and I couldn't help but think they were attempting to lend support, if not make a physical barrier. That they were trying to make me feel safe again as I entered the hub.

Whenever Jack has looked at me today, he's smiled at me, talked softly to me... He's apologized oh so many times this morning. I can feel his sorrow, his regret. His lament for actions over which he had no control. I know it wasn't his fault. It wasn't really him, but still… I've tried to mask it. Eye contact and smile. But it's no use. He knows me too well. He knows what's underneath. What's hiding. I don't know what to do. I can't just forgive him, because there's nothing to forgive. It wasn't him, wasn't his fault. But still… I can't help but feel… a little afraid of him.

Since mid morning Jack has been giving me a little space. I don't know which hurts me more, being afraid of him, or the look in his eyes that tells me that he knows I am.

Slight break in the tension this morning. Appears the British Visitor's Bureau is still trying to recruit me. They'd left several messages recently for Gwen to see if she'd be willing to 'share' me, work part time for them, or something. She's just now gotten another call and told them in no uncertain terms that I'm not available, not interested, and not going anywhere.

Took around the coffee this afternoon, took Jack's to him last of all. On the way, I've never had so many offers to help. I'm fine, thanks. No, really. That mug with its blue and white stripes sat on my tray and felt so heavy. I could feel half a dozen eyes on my back as I walked to Jack's office. I paused, took a deep breath and knocked on the frame of the office door. "Coffee?" I had to bite my tongue, not to add "Sir." Jack smiled at me and I felt my head swim. The path across his office felt a mile long, but I made it and set the mug on his desk. Jack reached for it and I saw my hand dart away from his, involuntarily. At least I wasn't physically shaking anymore. I looked to Jack and could see a glisten in his eye. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but said nothing. For all the pain I felt from the bruises, nothing compared to what I felt just then. I glanced out into the hub. No one was watching anymore. Apparently satisfied that all was okay, the others had resumed their work. As I looked back to Jack, the tear that had been lingering rolled slowly down his cheek, 'Ianto.'"Jack." I sat on the edge of his desk, "Now, c'mon Jack. The coffee's not _that_ good." I smiled at him and this time the smile wasn't forced. He touched the bruise on my cheek and said he was sorry. I leant into the touch and didn't say a word about forgiveness. I didn't have to, he knew.

When Tosh and I got home there were flowers waiting at the front door. When I say flowers, I mean _**Flowers. **_It was a bouquet roughly the size of my Audi. I've never received flowers before. The card read simply, 'Love, J.' And I thought, Yes, I do.

* * *

This morning I insisted Tosh and I take separate cars. Told her that I needed to run some errands today. She seemed reluctant, but I told her it was fine and eventually she agreed. Also asked about the phone message, about her new flat. She hadn't wanted to mention it. She wanted me to know she'd be here as long as I needed her. I told her it was hard, but that I'd always realized that one day my little girl would grow-up and move out on her own. First she looked insulted, then she threw a tea-towel at me and laughed. She'll call around to hire a truck for this weekend. I suggested she try Harwood's, maybe Gwen could get her a discount.

Jack has offered to re-create The Kiss, now that Owen, Tosh and Gwen have forgotten it. Told him I'd think about it. He cautioned, however, that if we're going to re-intact it, he wants some rehearsal time with me first, that accuracy and proper staging are important.

Staying late tonight… a little late. There was a sighting of several weevils on St. Mary's tonight. Jack and I are going to take a look. Really starting to feel like things are getting back to normal. Where else in the world would a roving band of carnivorous aliens on city streets feel like 'normal?'

While he asked me, I didn't stay overnight tonight. Once the weevils were captured and locked in the vaults, I came home. I want things back the way they were… before Jack left. I just can't bring myself to take that final step. When he was gone, all the thinking I did led me to the conclusion that I had to take more control over my personal relationships. The conclusion I find myself coming to, now, is that whatever it takes… I don't care. I need Jack. I want Jack.

* * *

Jack said he missed me last night. That he missed having me to talk to at night, while he was… away. The tone, the pause, the wistful sigh. So much more happened to Jack, wherever he was. I really wonder that he doesn't want to talk about it. But he will, eventually. And when he does, I'll be there for him. Bit by bit, piece by piece. It's just the way he does it. I can wait.

I've decided I don't need the others to know about Jack and me. I don't need it, at least not yet. And not enough to have Jack stage a re-enactment of The Kiss. It really is enough that Jack was willing. (Who am I kidding? Jack's always… willing.) I have officially reserved the right to reconsider and request the re-enactment at any time in the future. To this Jack agreed, assuming that something doesn't occur to make the 'situation' obvious to the others in the meantime. I considered questioning his choice of terms… 'situation?' Is that what I am? A 'situation?' I must've frowned or something. 'Cause Jack quickly added, 'As I'm finding it increasingly difficult, just keeping my hands off of you.' With that, I made my escape, before he had a chance to demonstrate.

Great, just as the tourist board finally seems to be getting the idea that I'm not interested, U.N.I.T. has taken-up where they left off. Jack had the call on speaker phone while Owen was in his office. U.N.I.T. officially requested that if Jack won't allow me to transfer to their service, that he at least 'loan' me to them. Seems that there was some Whitehall endorsement to the request, which made it less of a request and more of a demand. I don't understand the interest in me. Do they need someone to make coffee? They actually used those words: loan, borrow, provide. I can't even put into words, the thoughts racing through my head. What if he said yes? Would he though? Would Jack 'lend' me out? Should I be worried? Think maybe I'd better stop back by Jack's office and see.

Apparently not. Seems that Jack listened to the U.N.I.T. Colonel for all of a minute before launching into one of those rambling Jack-speeches, all full of colourful American phrases and undecipherable references. He was just finishing-up a rather one-sided outburst and hanging up on the man when I entered. The switch in his tone was amazing as he looked-up at me, 'You didn't want to go work for U.N.I.T. did you?' Nope. 'Well that's good, 'cause I told them they couldn't have you.' I asked why they wanted me anyway. To which he replied, 'Are you kidding? Who wouldn't?'

As I was leaving his office, Jack stopped me. 'We still haven't gone on that date. You promised. You said yes.' Yes I had. Jack asked me if I'd changed my mind. I told him I hadn't (and thought to myself, as if I ever would!) In turn, I asked him if he'd changed his mind. To which he replied, 'Yeah, as if I ever would.' Jack then inquired if my Saturday night was available. I told him that for him, I was pretty sure I could make it so, but that I'd have to check with my boss, make sure I didn't have to work. Big mistake, that. He just got that big grin and I could tell what he was thinking.

* * *

It's Friday. Tomorrow's Saturday. With my luck, the world will end sometime today. No, I'm helping Tosh move tomorrow. The world will end shortly after that.

* * *

Helped Tosh move this morning. She doesn't have half the rubbish that Owen does. Didn't take long at all. Her new flat's nice. I'm going to miss her. I so want a shower.

If I look at the clock one more time, I'm going to go completely insane. He isn't late. He said eight o'clock. He's not late. He's got three more minutes. Besides, even if he's a few minutes after, it's not like he doesn't want to go. Not everyone thinks ten minutes early is late. Get a hold of yourself Jones. It's just a date. Just a date. Just… stop it. Don't look at the clock. He's gonna be late. You know it. Accept it. You know him. He's always late. Probably an American thing.

* * *

Jack wasn't late. The chime clock in the kitchen had just started to strike when there was a knock at the door. His knock. I opened the door and there he stood, a bunch of flowers, a box of chocolates, a big grin… and a suit. I can not recall, in all the time I've known him, seeing Jack Harkness in a suit. But there he stood before me, two-piece and a tie, shiny dress shoes. Underneath, I caught a glimpse of those Welsh dragon braces I'd given him last Christmas. I looked down at my t-shirt and black jeans, back at him. It was like something from an O'Henry story, I'd dressed down for him and he'd dressed-up for me. I invited him in and told him I'd go change. Jack told me, 'Don't you dare. Here. Thought it'd be better than a bottle of wine.' He handed me the flowers and the chocolates. Absolutely and utterly perfect. But I don't eat chocolate at work. I asked him how he knew. Jack was looking around my flat as he answered, 'The pterodactyl, your secret weapon… preferably dark. 'You remembered that? 'Are you kidding? Of course I remember our first date. As I recall, you couldn't keep your hands off of me…' That bloody big grin of his. Couldn't help but counter: "And as I recall, you fell on top of me and I just happened to catch you." Jack turned and gazed at me, 'Well, yeah. I fell alright.' He took my chin in the palm of his hand, so strong and warm, 'But _you_ were the catch… and not easily landed, as I recall.' I glared at him with mock annoyance, "Are you comparing me to a fish?" Jack just laughed, 'If you're the fish, can I be the chips?' I told him he was making me hungry and Jack told me, 'You always make me hungry, IantoJones.'


	29. Attack

"Never on a first date." In all my life, I have yet to see five words ever have such a devastating effect on a man. Still, as much as he pouted, as much as my heart broke at his look, I held my resolve and bid Jack a good night at my front door. _Outside_ my front door. He tried for a cup of coffee. He tried to use the loo. He tried to get even just a look inside. I thanked him for a wonderful night. I kissed him goodnight and I closed the door.

* * *

Really have to admit, as 'first dates' go, last night was spectacularly fantastic. Jack was as charming as I would have expected. Dinner was fabulous. I felt like I was the only person in Jack's universe and he was certainly the only person in mine. My stomach did a little flip as he took my hand and held it as we walked. I can still feel a warm glow when I think of it, feel the texture of his hand in mine… Still, wouldn't be me if I didn't admit I know what comes next: I'll get to work. My heart will skip a beat when I see him. Our eyes will lock from across the hub. Jack will smile and say, 'Ianto, just the person I wanted most to see… How 'bout a cup of coffee.'

Yep. Almost look for look, word for word. Jack's nothing if not predictable. Ah well, if I'd let him in last night, would this morning have been any different? Doubt it. Still… _I'll Live to Love Another Day_.

Owen still doesn't realize that when he sings along to his iPod, we can hear him. When he really gets going, tourists up on the Plass can hear him. Right now he's up in the hothouse, singing away to _Our House_ by Madness. When I gave him that at karaoke, who would have guessed he'd end up with a new favourite? Created a monster, I have.

Tosh brought me flowers this morning to thank me for helping her move and letting her stay with me while she flat-hunted. Gave me a kiss on the cheek when she gave them to me. Jack's been looking at her ever since, glaring even. Could my Jack feel a little bit jealous?

While Owen vehemently denies it, Jack says that some of the lab rats have escaped again. He's asked me to put out some traps. Problem is the only traps we have in the storage room are the spring-loaded jaws-of-death things. Nasty. Need to run to the shops this afternoon for sugar, bin-liners and paperclips anyway. While I'm out, I'll see what I can find for the rodent issue as well.

Jack said that since it's slow, I could have the rest of the day off. Headed to Abergavenney to see Joan. Took her the purse I bought in the Lhasa street market. Worried that it might be a bit old for her, that I should have gotten her that doll instead, and that she might not like the purse. She loved it. She told me that dolls are for little girls. She's growing up.

Got back home and there was a note taped to my door. A note from Jack: _I.- Where are you? Gave you the night off, but you aren't here. Call me. –J. _So. Just how am I supposed to read that? Called him at the hub. No answer. Called his cell, got voicemail. And how am I supposed to read that? Did he come looking for me and when he found me absent go looking for someone else?

Was just getting into bed when the phone rang. Jack (his timing as always impeccable.) 'Where are you?' "Where do you think I am, Jack? I'm getting into bed (No you can't come tuck me in.)" 'Where were you earlier?' "Where was I? Where were you Jack?" So as it turns out, there was a Weevil call. Okay, I was in Abergavenney. Joan sends her love. (Was that a nervous chuckle, Jack? Who did you think I was with?) Who were _you_ with? Solo? Han Solo? Or you were alone? Alone? Really?

* * *

There's a new Weevil in the vaults and as it turns out, Jack didn't call any of the others last night (and by that I mean Gwen.) And I didn't even have to ask... Meeting this morning, and as I came in with the coffee, they were all discussing what they'd done last night. Gwen: more detail than I wanted to hear about Rhys, Owen: drinking, Tosh: sleeping. Jack's only input: 'Weevil hunt.' (With a small pout.)

Jack's still complaining that he hears rats scurrying around at night. I've put a half-dozen of those no-kill traps around, but no nibbles on the bait yet. Gwen suggested that it wasn't Owen's rats scrabbling around at night, but Owen himself. Her comments resulted in Owen pelting her with balled-up bits of paper the rest of the meeting. I'm not cleaning it up. Also, someone's still using too many paperclips. Shouldn't be a problem in the future, Torchwood 3's entire supply of paper is now in little crumpled balls on the floor around Gwen's chair in the conference room. There's no paper left to clip.

Today's Owen's iPod selection is _Baggy Trousers_. He's added dance moves. The walls to the hothouse are transparent, Owen. I'm seeing a YouTube video in the making.

Got a call from Jade this afternoon. She said that it was the fifth time she'd returned my calls. When I asked her why she hadn't left a message before, she said she had… with Owen. Brilliant. Tonight both she and Alesha have a night off. Could I make it over for a visit? She promised they wouldn't try to get me drunk. Jack says he'll let me off tonight, but I'll owe him one (I shudder to guess) and he'll only call me if it's an extreme emergency. (With that glint in his eye, I wonder what he considers 'extreme'… or 'emergency' for that matter.)

The girls are doing well. Jade just got a promotion. Alesha has a guy at work she's interested in, wants me to meet him. Both really liked the Tibetan silver necklaces. Jade lied to me, however. They did try to get me drunk. That is a complicated relationship. Don't think they can make up their minds if they want a 1) surrogate father figure, 2) surrogate big brother, or 3) a threesome. Don't feel quite old enough for the first, I'm okay with the second, and the third is just never going to happen (I'm too old, they're too young, and just, well… No.) Anyway, in a subtle attempt at a change of subject, Moses the Cat is well. Think he offered to help with the rats at the hub, but I recon we'll stick with the no-kill traps for now.

* * *

Jack says the rats are keeping him up at night. I pointed-out his prior claims of not needing sleep. Jack said he still liked to rest and if I didn't believe him on how much noise they were making, he wanted me to stay tonight so I could hear for myself. Uh-huh. Think maybe a new trap's been set.

Rift flares seem to have increased today, but nothing's come through. (At least nothing that we've found.)

I've started to notice an increase in phone hang-ups on my answer-phone. Tonight when I got home there were four. Jack wouldn't be checking-up on me would he? That'd be a bit creepy.

* * *

This morning Gwen is really starting to get on my nerves. Apparently I'm the only one she knows who doesn't have Atmos on his car and she wants me to sign-up. If I give her the 20 quid, will she just leave me alone? Only place I can hide from her is the Tourist Office. But it's probably only a matter of time before she follows. Maybe I'll spend the rest of the day in the deep archives. Well, after I tidy-up here a bit.

We received an Email from a freelance journalist. It had originally been sent to U.N.I.T., but had been forwarded to us with a note at the bottom asking if Torchwood had nothing urgent pending, could we take a look at the Atmos plant in Port Talbot. The request had been cc'd, sent to Torchwood 2, 3 and 4. (Didn't U.N.I.T. get the memo? How long has 4 been missing now, anyway?) Also advised us of a pending/ current operation outside London at the main plant. No details, just the name: Operation BlueSky. Why does U.N.I.T. insist on naming all their operations? Seems a little silly. Do they have a department that does nothing else but name missions?

(Need to re-think that one, maybe… Operation B.S.?)

Turns out the journalist has possibly met with foul-play. Did some research on her and the subject of her e-mail. Looks like she may have been on to something. In any case, it looks like someone took her seriously enough to have killed the poor girl. The report's printing now, then I'll see what Jack thinks about it all.

Jack sent Owen and me to check on the Port Talbot Atmos plant for U.N.I.T. What a place. They actually have a 24 hour work day… 7 days a week. Better not tell Jack, don't want to give him any ideas. He already pouts when I go home and as it is, I only average an 18-hour day. The 7 days a week, yep, that's typical Torchwood. Anyway, there we were, Owen goes off to the office to talk to the bosses. (Think he just didn't want to go into that warehouse. Did I mention how dirty it was? Note to self: check with Owen on the status of my most recent tetanus vaccination.) Well, what was inside was certainly more interesting than the outside. There I was, down in the cellar (yes, checking for pods) all by myself and feeling utterly forgotten and unloved… that's when I saw it… and I nearly shat myself. Cyber-conversion bed, right there in the middle of the room. Don't think that's what it really was, but pretty sure that's what it started out as. If these things have Cyberman tech, does that mean they've fought them? And Won?

So, anyway… I'm trying to report in, but the comms are being jammed and I hear a voice behind me. Turn around and there is this… thing. Like a kid in a Halloween costume, but no… it's fully grown. And it's got a bit of a Napoleon complex going on as well. There he was, standing 'tall' and proud, and barely reaching the height of my tie. I tried so hard not to laugh. I hope I didn't even snicker. Thought how I'd have felt if something like giant towering Abaddon had looked down at me and broken-out laughing. Owen's right. If I'm concerned with the feelings of this half-sized alien, maybe I really am an over-sensitive git.

There I was, face to… there we stood, when this alien, Stuul the Unstoppable (No, really, don't laugh.) Stuul noticed my hand hidden within my jacket and dared me to draw on him. It felt all too familiar. Like the Blowfish. But different. He wasn't taunting me, more like testing. He ordered me to draw. So I did. Not what he was expecting, I think. Tosh had warned us that there was a Cordolaine transmission that could affect metal. I think Stuul was expecting my gun not to work. Wasn't expecting a stun-gun. Really love this thing. It's somehow a whole lot easier to shoot someone… something… some alien, when it isn't lethal. In any case, Owen and I have gotten Stuul back to the hub and he's in the vaults now. When he's closer to waking up, we're going to take a better look. (Might be a while, had to stun him again in the car because he just wouldn't behave. Thought about yelling "Don't make your father pull this car over!" but thought that Stuul wouldn't understand and Owen wouldn't appreciate it.)

Had a look at Stuul in the vaults. I really don't know what to write. If there is anything that could look any more like a baked potato, without actually being a baked potato, I really don't know what it could be. Stuul is a spud. Potato or not, think maybe Owen went a little too far, mocking his nick-name thingy (funny, but too far… Stuul, the Un-sat-upon? Ouch.) So at least now there's a plan. Jack wants to use the brain-scan equipment on Stuul. The same brain-scan equipment Owen had wanted to use on me, to try to figure out/ fix my headaches. Really don't miss those headaches.

Scanners aren't working anyway (maybe the thing was for headaches after all.) Got Stuul some tea and biscuits (thought of offering him chips never ever crossed my mind. Ever. Well, maybe once.) Whose bright idea was it anyway? Cloning Mr. Potatohead? Appears that's the big plan. Kill all mankind and make Earth into a giant clone nursery. That's what the gas is for. Jack doesn't believe Stuul. Thinks it unlikely a military commander would give-up the battle plans that easily. I don't know. Those chocolate biscuits are pretty tempting.

As the Sontaran weather forecast calls for an increase in poisonous gas throughout the day, I brought out a crate of gasmasks from storage. Jack immediately put one on and chased me round his office for five minutes asking if I was his mummy. Sometimes I think I will never understand the American sense of humor.

Asked Jack about the Sontarans. He said he doesn't know too much. They're a race of clones who live for war. In fact, they've been at the same war for 50,000 years now. For what? I wonder if any of them even remember why. Or maybe to them, why doesn't matter. Maybe that's the problem with clones. There aren't any mothers, no one to be angry at the loss of their sons and daughters in an endless war. No one to say 'Enough!' Too many deaths on the front lines? Just make more clones, more cannon-fodder. There's no one to mourn the loss. Jack made some joke about cloning me, having one for each day of the week, and maybe a spare. When is he going to realize I don't think that's funny?

Stuul exploded. Jack needed to make sure he wasn't lying, so he had Owen up the setting on the scanner. Did I mention that this was the same scanner Owen had wanted to use on me? Glad my headaches have gone all on their own. I've grown rather used to having a head. Yep, headaches all gone. No more headaches. Thanks, but no need for a brain-scan here.

Can't help but feel a little sad for Stuul. There he was, just doing his job, following orders and bam! Stun-gunned, kidnapped, and… Well. I hope in the end, he considered it a warrior's death.

Jack's in his office trying to work-out a plan. It looks like it's getting the better of him. Gwen's gone in and I don't think she's being helpful. Yep, now she's back, bothering Tosh with how insensitive Jack can be. C'mon Gwen, leave the man alone as he works on a way to save the entire human race from imminent doom.

Looks like Jack's hit a bit of a wall, as far as the plan goes. I can see him through his office window, doing that thing with his hair. The man needs a break… a distraction.

Never underestimate the power of chocolate… Well, chocolate, combined with coffee… Well, chocolate, combined with coffee, combined with a bit of Welsh Tea-boy… Distraction accomplished.


	30. Attack of the Killer Potatoes

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* * *

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**_NOTE: Hello. Please read my companion piece "Atmosphere" first, so this will make some minor amount of sense. Ta, ever so!_**

* * *

When we were at Port Talbot, I asked Owen about that big thing in the room over behind the cyber-conversion bed and clone-pit. Either it wasn't anything good, or Owen didn't know what it was. He said not to worry about it, it's just a thing. Dunno. Looked kinda like a teleport to me. If it is a teleport, I wonder if Jack could use that in his plan.

Owen keeps calling it the Atmos system. Isn't that a bit redundant?

Clones, how do they tell each other apart? They bother with names, they must be able to tell somehow. Wonder if we all look the same to them? Hard to imagine, looking at Jack and… say Owen, and not being able to see a difference. Or Jack and Gwen, or Tosh. Are there even female Sontarans? If so, where are they? They probably have better things to do than mess around with all this endless war rubbish.

Taking 'round a snack for everyone: sliced Double Gloucester melted on Carr's crackers with a slice of tomato. I thought they were good, nothing too sharp for Gwen, or too 'stinky' for Tosh… Then Owen complains that we don't have canned cheese. Cheese? In a can? He described it. I told him cheese isn't spelt with a zed.

Jack has a brilliant plan: open the rift and vent all the ATMOS smog. He was positively radiant with this idea in the meeting. How could he? It's deadly. If I'd waited until everyone was off going about their assignments before I could get him alone in his office, maybe I'd have waited too long and the idea would be too firmly implanted. He wouldn't listen. Had to tell him, right there in the meeting…Don't like going against him… But how could we? He complains all the time about the shit that falls through the Rift, the rubbish that we're left to deal with. Then he wants to open it up and send a killer smoke through to… to who knows where?!? It could end-up anywhere… any time… on top of anyone. It's irresponsible and it's just wrong. I told him just exactly that. Now that I've heard his back-up plan, I wish I'd kept my mouth shut.

The second plan is horrible. Not a good day to be junior field agent. All that aside, I'm pretty sure Jack isn't saying all he has planned. Think I've worked-out why. He doesn't plan on making it back. Can't let that happen. Won't let that happen. Not to Jack.

Was going to write some notes to everyone here, saying good-bye and all. But I reckon there really isn't time, plus if my diary actually survives, they can just read the ones I wrote last time I was going to die, back in Tibet. Waiting on Gwen. She's on the phone again to Rhys. Sorry world, gonna have to wait, Rhys can't find a clean towel to stop-up the crack under the door. Use a bloody dirty one, mate. Who's gonna notice?

Looking at that last entry… I'm just jealous. Gwen gets to make a big fuss over Rhys, show her worry. I get to look at Jack, know what he has planned, but I can't tell him, or anyone. The end of the world is a lonely time.

Just realized just how much the Sontaran ship looks like the teleport 'stapler' from last year. Between that at the Cyber-bed, I wonder how much of the Sontaran tech is actually Sontaran.

So now it's all waiting. Isn't that always the case? Need to let these power-output interchange relays fully charge. Now if they'd sprung for the better relays, I could throw the lever and we could all get on with the dying and everything. Really don't want to do this. And I really don't want to wait around until I can do it.

Final thought? That's a tough one. Guess it really doesn't matter. If I'm not going to survive the explosion, wouldn't think my diary would, either. But, anyway, just in case: "You can't save everyone. Least of all yourself."

Is that an awful final thought? All I've time for, trying to save everyone else and all. Oooo… irony. Okay, that's my new final thought: Ironic.

Okay. Want some more irony? Yeah, why not. My life can apparently never have too much irony… So, not my final words after all. There I was waiting for the power-output interchange relays to fully charge, and I look at the monitor that shows the command bridge. There's another teleport tunnel, and a man's in it. He's holding what looks like Tosh's atmospheric converter. He's talking to the Sontarans. Seems to be trying to negotiate surrender. Sontaran surrender. Brilliant. I like his style. Apparently, it's not a bluff. He's giving them the choice: leave, or die. I really like his style (well, not his suit. Could do with a bit of a pressing, if nothing else.) Only problem is now I have a choice as well. Actually it's the same as the Sontarans, I can leave, or die. Problem is, if he is bluffing and can't really stop the Sontarans, that leaves only me. He wasn't bluffing.

So that leaves me where I am now, an Atmos plant just outside Paris. And I thought the Port Talbot plant was bad. I've been trying to phone Jack, but the land lines are all down. The mobiles seem to be working, but his seems to be switched off or something. No answer on Tosh or Owen and voicemail isn't picking-up. Gwen's is always busy (must be talking to Rhys. Yep. Still jealous of the visibility of their relationship.) So here I am, outside Paris, not a pence in my pocket (let alone any of my cards) and no way home. Brilliant.

Hitchhike. Ferry. Hitchhike. Not really happy about that. Have to admit, standing on the side of the road, my thumb stuck out, kinda scary. Too many stories and too many of those were on the news. Plus, there really aren't a whole lot of cars on the road at all. Think I'll be here 'til the 'End of Days.'

Finally got a ride with a van-load of women, all 'bout my mum's age. Most of the ladies just wanted to feed me, tell me what a nice young man I was, and all. A few of them were a little scary, including the one that insisted on rubbing my knee all the way to the Chunnel. But on the bright side, they were going all the way to Bristol, so now I'm almost home. Still no answer on the phones, and now my battery's gone dead. The van-women were nice enough to give me train-fare, but it's not quite enough. Have to think of something.

Okay. On the train now with a ticket all the way through to Cardiff. A song or two was all it took. Never thought of busking as a viable alternative for short train-fare. Whatever works. I should be able to make it home come morning.

* * *

When I got in the hub, and saw Jack standing there… holding Gwen, I really wished I'd thrown the other lever, over loaded the power-output interchange relays. I'd wished I'd died with the Sontarans. I could feel every bit of potential I had, drain from me. Tried to hide it. Eye contact and smile. But it wasn't real. He wasn't holding her. She was holding him, trying to comfort Jack. Comfort him… over me. Jack needed comforting? Over me? How can one moment in your life go from such utter devastation, to such elation? Guess it's only fair, for all the times when life goes the other way.

Owen and Tosh were late getting in this morning. So, it appears last night Torchwood held a wake, of sorts, for me. Mostly it was 'cause Owen showed-up with a case of beer and no one had felt like going home. So there they sat, apparently, 'til early this morning, telling stories and remembering things… about me. Lots of bits from the Tibet trip. Tosh says that Jack actually laughed when Gwen told him about the snow-ball fights and skinny-dipping in the hot spring. (To which Jack said he really wished he'd been there.) Tosh had brought out her pictures from the trip… and Jack asked if he could keep a few. When she looked through them again later, she told me that all the ones he had taken had been of me. I've never known Jack to keep pictures of his team, with that exception of that one he kept for a little while…of us on the couch last year. Seems the others have since claimed pictures of me as well. (Everyone gets copy of the same one, the 4 of us in those ridiculous Mickey Mouse ear hats of Gwen's in front of the Matterhorn ride.) Don't know quite how to feel about all this. It's strange. Torchwood's lost so many agents over the years, but there's no record of… no reaction like… especially for someone like… can't think of a time when I've ever felt so welcome, so wanted… so loved.


	31. Truth and Consequences

Found the Atmos brochure Gwen was chasing me with just a few days ago. Asked her if she still wanted it, or should I put it in the bin? 'Not funny, Ianto.' I dunno, I rather thought it was.

Road trip this morning for Owen and me, all the way to the Rattigan Academy on Templeford Road in Richmond. Jack wants us to sort through anything that's left, glean any bits (alien or not) that could prove useful. This Rattigan bloke, think he's been watching too many James Bond movies. (And not the best of Bond, either.) Way too _Moonraker_. Even had the outfits. Sad, really, but it looks like all the misguided geniuses that try to take over the world seem to have the worst fashion-sense. Be willing to bet that he was actually planning on naming his brave new world after himself. Rattigan's World, or some such.

The plan was to get to the Academy before U.N.I.T. But as usual, Owen was late this morning. As it was, we got there just after they did. There's always been a bit of a competition between us and them, never more so than when tech is up for grabs. While I'd put Torchwood's skills up against theirs any day, they do have us on sheer numbers. (A fact that absolutely floored me, U.N.I.T. lost more people at the Battle of Atmos London than have _ever_ worked at Torchwood 3. So much loss…) They'd stationed a pair of guards at the front door. As junior field agent, I turned to Owen for the plan. Will I never learn? Senior field agent Owen's big and masterful strategy? He wanted me to go over and 'flirt' with the pair of the soldiers. Some strategy: Flirtation. Owen said that as there was one male and one female, odds were that at least one would be interested in me, maybe both. I was to distract them so Owen could nick something interesting that they'd already packed-up. (He never did quite explain phase two of his plan, what happens if one or more of the pair might just express interest, and take me up on the 'offer.') Next time, junior or no, I'm making the plans.

So anyway, my two new U.N.I.T. friends have directed some of their fellow soldiers to load the Torchwood SUV with all sorts of new toys. Sergeant Cathy said in the spirit of inter-agency cooperation, that it was only right to share; Corporal James said he had all sorts of toys back at base, that he wouldn't mind sharing with me. Come to think of it… I don't think he was talking about alien tech. (Or maybe he was…) Okay. Anyway, Jack's right, those U.N.I.T. hats are quite fetching. In any case, we now have single-molecule fabric, gravity density intensifiers, eco-shells and nano-tech steel. Not a bad haul for a daytrip. Couldn't get the teleport unit, but we already have the one from Port Talbot anyway. With any luck, Tosh should be able to reverse-engineer another. (Otherwise not a lot of good, a single teleport chamber. Rather like having a single walkie-talkie… or a pair, but no one with whom to share…) Anyway. So we've stopped for a bite of dinner and should be back in Cardiff 'bout ten tonight.

Once we were again on the road with a boot full of… student science projects, Owen was finally back to how he was on the Tibet trip. (Or more precisely, how he was most of the time Jack was away.) We actually chatted like back when we were roommates. While we talked of quite a bit, Owen told me that he'd overheard Jack talking with Tosh about me yesterday. Seems he's noticed that I'm a little more self-assured than I was before he left us. Apparently, he finds that 'hot.' (Jack does, not Owen.) Note to self: more self-assurance is a good thing.

Even with Owen's driving, we didn't make it back to the Hub 'til midnight. As Owen then promptly disappeared (good to know the man can be prompt at something) that leaves me all alone to unload the SUV. Don't know where Jack is. Probably don't want to know, but I can't help wondering… or is it worrying?

Well, I apparently fell asleep on the couch last night. Woke-up this morning to find myself wrapped in Jack's greatcoat. Overslept. I blame the coat. It always smells so deliciously like Jack, I didn't want to get out from under it. Anyway… Showered, shaved, and dressed now. Two new Weevils in the vaults, so I'm guessing that's where Jack was last night. Still haven't seen him yet this morning.

Rift flare this morning. Gwen and Tosh traced it to a small thing that looks for all the world like a bottle cap. It's probably evil, or at least vaguely malicious, with plans to take over the world. Have to wait and see.

* * *

Well the possibly malevolent bottle cap didn't take over the world last night, but it might just be biding it's time, lulling us into a false sense of security, or waiting for reinforcements. In any case, we're running low on milk and biscuits. Have to see if I can grab a minute; make it out to the shops later this afternoon.

* * *

After the others had left, Jack challenged me to a game of hockey in his office last night. Thought he'd be more likely to suggest rugby, or American football, but no… hockey. Field hockey at that. Well, okay. Why not? Nothing on telly at home anyway. At some level, I probably just thought it was all a joke anyway. Jack, true to his word, showed up a few minutes later with a pair of field hockey sticks and a small rubber ball. So he set his chair next to the coat rack and said that was my goal to attack. I found myself staring at him and wondering how daft I must have appeared, standing there with the stick in my hands. I tried to figure out the proper way to hold the thing. When I came back to reality, Jack was asking if I understood. Not really. Apparently his goal to attack was somewhere just behind me. I pointed out that something was bound to get broken. Jack just laughed (that quick staccato burst) and said not if we did it right. As I really knew nothing about hockey of any sort, I tried to just counter whatever moves Jack made. I was actually starting to enjoy it all. Jack was laughing and having a good time as well. I was just beginning to think that he was letting me get the ball, almost score on him, when he made a feign to the left and went straight past me on the right. His competitive nature must be a bit contagious. As he moved past me, I spun and hooked his leg with my stick. Jack tumbled to the floor and pulled me down after him, laughing all the time. 'That should be two minutes in the penalty box.' He told me. I advised him that I wasn't clear on the rules. Jack said that he'd let it go this time, but I needed to find the ball while he grabbed a couple of bottles of water. As I looked around the office, I began to realize the ball was no longer there. It had probably fallen through the portal and down into Jack's bedroom. Sure enough as I looked down the hole, I could see the red ball resting on top of Jack's unmade bed. (I thought they taught you how to make a bed, hospital corners and all, in the military, Captain?) I went to retrieve the ball. As I picked it up, couldn't help but at least straighten the covers. 'I win.' Jack was standing behind me at the base of the ladder. I asked what he meant; no one had even scored a goal yet. He smiled, 'Look around you, where you are... _This_ was my goal, all along.' (That bloody big grin of his.) Almost asked him how long he'd been planning this. Before I could, Jack had closed the distance between us and swung his hockey stick behind me, catching the hooked end in his other hand, and used the stick to pull me towards him. 'Now, about that penalty…'

So there I was, mind racing, trying to think how I would extricate myself from Jack's grip (and indeed _if_ I even wanted to extricate myself.) I must have tensed in his grasp, broke eye contact, for he seemed to sense… in any case, he let me go. I can always tell when Jack does a quick change of plans, and it was there in his eyes. He told me my penalty would be served tomorrow night, at what was rapidly becoming Torchwood's official karaoke bar: Our second date. Never really knew Jack liked karaoke, but then again, I guess any audience will do.

* * *

Jack's spent the greater part of the day reminding me that we have a date tonight… and the rest of the day reminding me that this will be our second date. Don't know exactly what he thinks that means, but with Jack, I suppose I can make a fairly accurate guess. Dunno, don't think he's done enough to earn me back just yet. Until I can be a little more certain of exactly how he feels… As much as I want Jack, as much as I want to be with him, not yet.

Owen is doing it on purpose. He has to be. The bins are clearly marked. How hard can it be, really? At least he's consistent; he always tosses the aluminum in with the paper and paper in the glass bin. Plastic bottles go in the aluminum bin and glass beer bottles get left where they were drunk. It's the biological experiment mug all over again.

Tosh's asked me for some help with a new project of hers, something to do with manipulation of Rift energy and dilation of the time stream. Guess the shopping will have to wait, again. (Time waits for no mall?)

Delay on Tosh's time stream project. Apparently she doesn't have the parts.

Gwen's started asking my opinion of venues for her wedding. Well, in my opinion, she's waited a little too long; she'll never get a place in town at this late date. Still, I can understand, she wants it all to be perfect. Gave her a list of places that might still be available, even if they are a little out of the way.

Jack's spent the afternoon, chasing me 'round the Hub, asking what songs I'm planning on doing at karaoke tonight. Doesn't he have any work to do?

Tonight was… interesting. And confusing. So there we were, at a table front and center. Jack was flirting with the waitress, something about whether to order beer, or a bottle of wine. I realize we go there way too often when I recognize a few of the people at the table next to us. I guess a guy at the table feels the same way, seems to recognize me and we exchange quick smiles. Jack finally asks my opinion on the whole wine vs. beer argument (at which I have to admit rolling my eyes, does he really need to ask? Brains, of course.) Drinks ordered and waitress gone. So, it would seem to be that guy at the next table's turn to sing. As he waits for his song to cue, Jack leans over and informs me that the guy's kinda handsome. Really? I hadn't noticed.

The music starts, and as a way of introduction, the guy dedicates the song to Tom Jones fans, all the while staring directly at me. He must have remembered last time I was there, when I sang _It's Not Unusual_. Then he continues to gaze at me as he proceeds to sing _If He Should Ever Leave You,_ directly to me, and as if I was the only person on Earth. There in a packed bar, at a table with Jack... I really, really didn't know what to do. There were certain of the lines (_Your captivating eyes, the clever way they smile_.) I couldn't even hazard a glance at Jack. (_When you're standing there, the world disappears._) I found myself staring at the table, (_It would be a crime, to ever let you go._) Staring at the bottle of beer that had appeared on the table in front of me. (_He should be inclined, to keep you very close._) I could feel Jack staring at me. (_He'd be such a fool, if he should ever leave you._) I really tried so hard not to… (_To watch the way you move, it's obvious you… were made for breaking hearts._) But it's like a laugh at an inappropriate moment, (_The pout… of your lips. Those soft… fingertips. The curve of your waist. You're perfectly made_.) The more I tried to suppress it, the more it happened of its own accord… (_No one else compares, you're a cut above the rest_.) When he finished the last line, the final "_The sudden way you smile._" I just couldn't help it, I smiled. I could feel a heat from where Jack was sitting, a rise in his actual body temperature. I honestly did not want to encourage the guy, and I really didn't want to make Jack feel jealous… Why won't this bloody Rift ever open-up and swallow me?

So a few songs later, (mostly of the type that you really wish someone would have told the singer the truth about their abilities years ago) everything had calmed back down. Jack was relaxing again. And of course that is when the waitress that Jack had been flirting excessively with earlier showed up with a second bottle of Brains S.A. for me. Told her I didn't order it. I should have kept my mouth shut, really. She tells me the beer's from that guy at the next table. Brilliant. So there we are, sitting in the silence that can only be felt between two people in a very noisy Cardiff karaoke bar on a Friday night, when Jack suddenly got up and stormed off. He'd been gone just long enough that I was sure I'd been abandoned and had started to think about calling for a taxi. That's when Jack suddenly reappeared at the table, throwing himself into his chair with the force of a small hurricane. When I looked at him, I noticed a small bruise forming on his lip and blood on his collar, blood that didn't seem to be his. I asked him what had happened, but Jack wouldn't answer. He just sat, sulky, like a statue of stone. I finally asked him if he'd been in a fight and I could tell the answer from a slight twitch of a reaction. I couldn't, however, guess why. That is, until I saw the guy at the next table, the one who'd sung to me. More precisely, I saw what was left of him. For the second time tonight, I couldn't stop myself from smiling, but this time at Jack. I leant over to him and ran my thumb over his bruised lip, lightly. And I told him that it was all completely unnecessary.

I really felt bad for the poor guy, as he left with his friends. I hope the expression on my face communicated my regret at Jack's behavior, but I got the distinct impression that getting up and telling him I was sorry about the whole thing would not have been a good idea, not in front of Jack. There's still a lot about Jack that I don't know. Come tomorrow, the man may have been found floating in the Bay. (No, Jack wouldn't. Couldn't.) I don't like it, that Jack beat up a guy for singing to me, buying me a drink… Who am I kidding? It flattered the hell out of me.

So, how am I supposed to read Jack? To respond to the man who flirts with everyone and anyone at the drop of a hat. The man who can't keep his hands off of me in private. The man to whom I often cease to exist in front of the team. The man who occasionally still makes those longing stares at Gwen… But also the man that feels jealous enough over me to drag a guy into the ally and beat him up for openly expressing interest in me. As it was tonight, I responded by wishing him goodnight at my front door.

* * *

Have to admit I'm a little worried about how Jack will be this morning. I don't know which would be worse; that he'd be mad that someone was flirting with me, accuse me of causing it, or that he'd act like nothing happened... Or that he'll ignore me. No, I know full well, that would be the worst. Jack ignoring me.

Well, at least he didn't ignore me. First time I saw him was when I was making the first round of coffee. Didn't hear his approach, but suddenly he was behind me with a whispered, 'That's date number two. What can I look forward to? For number three?' He was gone again before I'd had time to sort out an answer. I still haven't sorted-out an answer.

Morning meeting. Nothing of great interest. Jack's starting to talk about a need to go through the class D unidentifieds again, soon. Tosh thinks that if we fine-tune the sub-etheric resonator, we can decrease the number of the Rift monitor's false alarms. She's continuing to work-out the details. Jack is still hearing Owen's escaped lab rats in the walls at night. (And Owen is persisting in his claim that all his rats are accounted for.) Jack reiterated that if I can't get them trapped, he's going to make me stay with him through the night, until they are. This elicited a few glances between the team, and a deep blush on my cheeks

Had a chance to talk with Jack about last night. Asked him if he was going to respond that way anytime anyone showed any interest in me. To which he asked, 'Why? Do ya want me to?' I mentioned that maybe he'd gone a bit overboard and that I really didn't want to be the cause of anyone getting beaten-up. Jack told me that he'd gone to just talk to the guy, tell him to back-off. The guy, according to Jack, had other ideas. Said a few things. Things that Jack didn't like (and from Jack's manner, I took that to mean things about me, or things he'd like to do to me...) Jack was not about to let that go unanswered. I really didn't know what to say, so I mentioned that neither of us had ever gotten around to singing last night. Asked him what he would have chosen. To that Jack replied, "Johnny Cash: _I Walk the Line_." Okay, so maybe he's earned me back after all.

* * *

Well, that'll teach me to be the last one in to the morning meeting. Trying a new coffee blend, and wanting to get the grind just right, put me a few minutes behind everyone else (still fifteen minutes ahead of the scheduled time, but apparently that was too late.) Never again. As it turns out, Tosh and Owen have been working on a new formulation of compound B-67. Unlike our current retcon, this version has an added element, a truth serum of sorts. Their research has reached the guinea pig test stage. Unfortunately, there's never a guinea pig around when you need one. As such, it appears they are skipping straight to the Tea-boy test stage. Torchwood is using their junior-most field agent to test the new component. Brilliant. (I don't even get the retcon part that would allow me to forget this whole indignity.) Truth serum + me = disaster. Mark my words; this will end in tears… undoubtedly mine.

Owen's such a brilliant scientist. His stellar method of testing to see how long it takes for the compound to take effect is to keep asking me questions. He keeps asking about that night when Jack came back, the one we had to re-live over at St. David's. He's convinced I cheated at Trivial Pursuit. Keeps asking how I filled-up my little pie-thingy before he had gotten even a single piece. Just to shut him up, I finally told him it's 'cause I'm clever… and I know everything. How long should it take for this wondrous truth drug to take effect anyway? So this new retcon is to be called B-68. Whose stunningly luminous idea was that? Probably Owen. And he mocked my 'Risen Mitten.' He is such a twat. Think I'll go tell him that.

There's no filter. No little voice to say 'Stop! Don't say that! It's too embarrassing, or it'll hurt someone's feelings.' Everything gets said, everything. I knew this was a mind-numbingly stupid idea. And it's always me, the expendable one. Really hope Jack doesn't ask me what I think of him.

I'm supposed to report any unusual side-effects to Owen. Unusual? What? Like the complete and utter inability to say anything other than the mortifyingly embarrassing? Guess I should mention to him that I seem to be seeing things, like the occasional flash of a shadow, or a blur of a colour. Of course it'll come out all wrong… something along the lines of, "Uhhh… Hello, Owen, you know that new retcon formula? Yep, the horribly untested formula that you and Jack bullied me into taking? It's making me see flashes of blue in the shadows. Oh, and by the way… I really, really hate you right now."

Okay, can this whole 'truth serum' thing get any worse? Let me see… so far I've told Jack that my arse fell asleep waiting for him to bother coming back to where I was waiting for him after he had to double-check something with Tosh; to Tosh I said that Owen will never notice her until she makes him; to Owen I admitted that I always look to his lead when we're out in the field; and I told Gwen that yes, her arse does look big in those trousers. I am just going to go down to the archives and die of shame, now.

Owen says I can't spend all day in the archives. That he has to be able to observe me if this test is going to be of any use. Don't see why. Why does he have to be able to watch my utter humiliation, just to know that his formula works? I would have thought it was obvious by now. To top it all off, he has no clue how long it will take for this to wear off… or for that matter IF it will wear off. Really hate Torchwood. Did I mention how much I hate Owen?

Actually I don't hate Owen. I think he's probably the best field agent Torchwood has. I can learn a lot from him, which is probably why I follow his lead so closely when we're in the field. Probably why Jack teams us up so often. He knows I could learn a lot from Owen. Bloody hell. Another side effect. Owen's B-68 not only makes me say things I'd never say, it makes me write things I'd never write as well. Please let this wear off soon!

In the middle of all this, Gwen's just asked me about Jack and me. Lord, help me… I answered her. I told her things I wouldn't write in this diary. Then, to top it all off, she asks straight out, 'Do you love him?' Before I could stop myself, or even ask myself all those questions I usually ponder when I ask myself that question, I blurted out, "YES!" I just want to die now. Please, let the Rift swallow me whole before Gwen says anything to anyone else, before I say anything to anyone else, and before Jack corners me somewhere…


	32. Beth

Better control now. Still can't control what I say completely, but I can hold back and not say anything at all… sometimes. If silence where nothing need be said is, in fact, the eloquence of discretion… I'm trying my best to be very eloquent right now. Not always working.

/////

Jack was thinking about re-arranging the furniture in his office… again. Last night he had me stay late with the infra-red tape measure. (Owen still has him convinced that it's alien, and I'm not going to be the one to tell him it was ₤8.99 at the DIY store.) Anyway, there we were, standing, discussing options, and I guess I hit the trigger on the device, 'cause it beeps and lights-up with a reading. Jack lifts my arm, looks at it, smiles and says 'That's pretty accurate.' I must be out of practice, because I had no idea what he was on about. Then his grin, and the raised eyebrow, gave it away. Implying that the 9.75 inches it's registering on the screen has to do with… well instead of how close… and… Jack wants to use the measure thing later, and wants me to stay late… and I'm not sure I'm ready for any of this again anyway. In any case, after reaching new levels of blushing, that slight stammer again, and a bit of shortness of breath, I managed to get out of Jack's office without committing to anything. Since then, he's made all sorts of references to 9 inches. Bloody measuring tape. Wish I'd never bought the thing now.

Making all these claims, Jack dares me to prove him wrong. This time he even produced another tape measure. As if I'd trust it, this one probably _is_ an alien device, with a psychic link that reads what you want it to show. Wouldn't put it past him, to have an alien tape-measure that lies.

He's still at it. What Jack fails to realize… I've a tape measure of my own. What does he expect? I am the son of a tailor

Owen estimates, from my current state of forced truthfulness, that I should be over the effects of the B-68 in a day or two. (Not that I'd ever put much faith in Owen's appraisal of my mental state at any time.) Until then, Jack's got me on a kind of restricted duty. Specifically no outside contact, either of the field work or telephone kind. Guess that's for the best. Can see it now, 'So, where do you work?' "I work for Torchwood Three. We're a secret organization, beyond the police… etc. etc. etc. Oh, by the way, you know that little Tourist Information office just down the way?" Nope. Wouldn't be a good thing. So anyway, while I'm stuck inside, Jack keeps calling me in to his office, to help him with various things (not like I don't have other work I could be doing.) I think maybe he just wants to keep an eye on me. In fact, I'm pretty sure. As most recently when I was talking with Owen, I heard my name bellowed. Jack needed my assistance in finding a certain file… one that I found on his bookcase, jammed between a dictionary and the Kama Sutra… It was a file he'd been reading just the last time I'd taken him coffee, however did it end up over there? Ah, he's calling again. Maybe I'll just find some urgent task that can be completed in his office for the rest of the day. Don't want him straining that lovely voice of his.

Did I ever note that down? The voice? That Jack hums when he's alone in his office, or when it's just the two of us? Been doing it more, as of late. He usually has a little smile (not sure if he's even aware, or if it's all just sub-conscious) but it's like a code he doesn't expect me to crack. What Jack doesn't realize, my Gran, big Cole Porter fan. I grew-up with those songs. I know the ones he always hums, and I know the words. One day I'll have to tell him. Not yet. Right now, it's like Jack has sub-titles… and without them, I'd be back to just guessing about what goes on behind that smile. Just last night, as I was heading home for the night, it was: _Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye. _

Brilliant. Now I think maybe I've miss-read Jack completely. I've found myself a task that I can do in his office, set up everything I need, and now he's wandered off. So now I'm in here all alone, with some pointless paperwork. No, I can't believe I'm that far off. Yet now that I'm in his office, he's out wandering the Hub, talking to everyone except me.

Not much going on Rift-wise. Everyone has finished-up their work for the day and headed home and it's only just gone six. I've finished my pointless paperwork and have told Jack that when I've filed it in the Archive, I'm going to get going home as well. Don't think I imagined it, the little pout, but he didn't say anything besides, 'Okay.'

Checked-in with Jack after leaving the Archive, just to make sure he didn't need anything else. As I stuck my head in his office door, I caught him humming that same one again, (_Ev'ry time we say goodbye, I die a little. Every time we say goodbye, I wonder why a little.) _When I asked him if there was any other work that needed taking care of before morning, he paused, as if considering how to make his response typically suggestive. Instead, he just smiled and said no, and wished me a good night. Jack turned back to his paperwork and I took a step out of his office. I was going to ask if he needed coffee or anything to eat before I left, but he was already engaged in the file folder, humming again (_Why the gods above me, who must be in the know, Think so little of me, they allow you to go._) Is it just a coincidence? Just a tune stuck in his head? Or is it something more?

On the drive home another thought occurred to me, with the humming… is Jack just screwing with my head? Does he know I'd know Cole Porter lyrics? Does he suggest, then back-off? Or maybe he's giving me time to think. Or maybe I've been thinking too much lately, and it's all nothing.

//////

Jack is testing me. He keeps asking me all sorts of random questions to see if the B-68 has worn off yet. He asked me about those bloody awful boots he always wears. Really, if he doesn't want to know, he shouldn't ask. He says that until he's sure I'm back to 'normal' (should I be insulted?) he's going to continue to keep me at the Hub. As he said, 'That's all I need, you in jail or hospital because you told some P.C. what you thought of his investigative skills, or some street gang what you thought of their clothing choices.' Guess I can see his point. So in any case, looks like I'll be fine-tuning the Rift manipulator today. Brilliant. Not the cleanest place in the Hub. Note to self: Jack wants me to pay particular attention to the sub-etheric resonator. He's convinced Owen spilt a bottle of orange juice on it last week. Just what Owen was doing with orange juice in the manipulator, I'm sure I'll never guess. Must say, I had noticed a rather unusual scent when the Rift has flared recently and come to think of it, might very well be oranges… or at least what oranges would be like if they were burning.

When Jack says he's keeping me at the Hub until the B-68 wears off, does he mean over-night?

Just when I thought all the effects were wearing off, I'm starting to see those flashes of colour again. Told Owen about it. He gave me that squinty look with a frown, that on anyone else might be concern, and dragged me by the arm to his medical bay. That's where I've been for the last two and a quarter hours, enduring every test Owen can devise. (Interrupted only by a fifteen minute lecture by Jack to Owen about accuracy in his field reports.) Must be a slow day for everyone. Only thing that saved me from more needles was a police call. As much as they complain about Torchwood, they really are getting better at letting us know when they find anything… odd. So anyway, the entire team has gone off without me. (Just like old times.) Apparently in a burglary gone bad, the robbers ended-up falling from a fifth floor window, onto a police car. (And who says there's never a cop around when you need one?)

Gwen and Owen have gone on to the hospital to see what they can get from the suspect who's still alive. Jack and Tosh are heading back after they finish with any evidence at the scene.

Saw the flash of colour again, along the railing by the manipulator. Only this time it stopped, and waved. I blinked, I rubbed my eyes, and I waved back. One of the little blue space hamsters, the one with the punk fur-style… I guess they didn't all go home. Before I could approach, the cog door opened with that blaring alarm and when I turned back to the railing, she was gone. It'd have to wait. Jack needed a background search on Beth and Michael Holloran of 114 Brodsky Gardens.

Jack got the name wrong. Should be Halloran. So much for accuracy in field reports. Tosh mentioned that she felt some concern over Jack, thought he might be sick or something. She said that he'd been talking with the SOCO and not only didn't express any interest in him whatsoever, but didn't even really bother to flirt with him either. She did wonder out loud what Jack had meant by some hockey reference. What exactly has Jack been saying? I'll have to get more details from her later.

Nothing of apparent interest in the Halloran's backgrounds, at least nothing to explain what might have happened last night. Jack has told Owen to stay with the surviving burglar, all night if necessary, to find out what he knows.

Owen's back. Says Gwen volunteered to stay instead. Think I can guess how that conversation went (and it probably didn't include Gwen saying anything like, 'No, go on. I'll stay. Rhys won't mind a bit.') Owen must have a 'hot' date or something.

Owen didn't have a hot date. He wanted to stick me with more needles. He said I wasn't going home until we had the whole 'seeing things' phenomenon sorted. Was about to tell him it was sorted, and that the whole missing lab rat-noises-at-night mystery had been solved as well, but some nagging thought at the edge of my mind cautioned against it. I instead settled back for another round of tests and needles.

Guess that answers my questions about whether Jack intended on locking me in the Hub overnight, Owen drove me home. Told him I was fine, but he wasn't having it. Said, ''Til I've got the test results back and your eyes sorted, I'm not about to risk you crashing your car, getting all killed and all. 'Cause Jack'd blame me and be on my ass 'til the end of time!'

////

Knowing full well that Owen would never remember, called Tosh for a ride in to work this morning. We stopped for doughnuts on the way in. They were out of powdered jelly. Jack's going to have to make due with glazed chocolate old-fashioned.

This morning Gwen returned from hospital, looking a little worse for it. Seems that the suspect woke-up, was questioned by Gwen, and then died. She's feeling rather guilty. Had a bit of a talk with her. Told her that I really couldn't see her being so harsh and demanding with him that he'd up and die. (Even if he did happen to go into cardiac arrest right then and there.) I think I finally had her convinced that it wasn't her fault. Capped it all off with a, "Now Gwen, you know I'm not lying." She looked at me for a full minute before breaking out laughing.

Jack's brought Beth Halloran in for questioning. Think maybe the hood over the head was a bit much. She looks scared to death. There's nothing in her background check to indicate she's ever been in trouble before. She's trying not to show how frightened she is. I do suspect, however, she watches too many cop shows on the telly. Keeps asking for a lawyer, saying she's got rights. Like Jack would ever let a lawyer into the Hub. Lawyers and clowns. Don't know which Jack dislikes most.

Watching Jack in the interrogation room… okay, the B-68 must still be in effect, because I feel absolutely compelled to write… Jack in the interrogation room… soooo hot! Let me try that again… Sooooooo HOT!

Figured if I teased Jack just right, might get him to want to try me in the interrogation room later. OH MY GOD! Did I really just write that? Okay… Better get back to work on that Rift manipulator. Won't fix itself.

Apparently there's more to Beth Halloran than meets the eye. Owen's had a look at her and now they're convinced she's an alien. Jack took her down to the vaults. Introduced her to Janet. As if the poor woman weren't frightened enough. Still, Jack knows what he's doing. He's starting to get that look. He knows where this is going and is getting himself ready for whatever is needs to be done, for whatever he is going to have to do. He's creating that distance from her. Think maybe Gwen's trying to do the same. She didn't go with them to the vaults, just watched the whole thing on CCTV. Or maybe that was Jack's idea. He didn't want Gwen's 'good cop' there to soften the blow this round. (Bit of mixed metaphor there.)

Jack wants to use the brain scan on her. On Beth. Find out who, or what, she is. Not so sure about this idea. Really, really hope things turn out better for Beth than they did for Stuul, the Unstoppable. Owen's going to talk with Jack, try to talk him out of using this thing on her.

Owen, Tosh and Gwen each had a talk with Jack. Trying to talk him out of the mind probing. I haven't had a go, but I figured that's the last thing Jack needed, one more person cornering him in the hallway, voicing concern over his decisions. So apparently I did it in front of everyone, instead, "Their heads must explode all the time?!?" Brilliant way to show support, Jones. Well, I got what I deserved, didn't I? When Gwen up and starts going on about what I told her the other day. Jack is gonna want to have a talk with me about this later. (And right now, a question Beth asked comes to mind: Will it hurt? Jack: Yeah.)

I've loaded the phonetics of Beth's response into the computer. First part sounds almost like a name: Gaila, Janise. She is alien, though. Can't assume. Note to self: attempt translation when time permits; see how it matches up with anything Tosh works out.

Meeting in the conference room. Beth's a sleeper agent for what Jack's calling Cell 1-1-4. Now they know about us, about Torchwood, and about the Hub. They have to be stopped.

Jack and Gwen have shown Beth the CCTV footage of her… alien side. Alien or not, dangerous or not, the human part is still so scared. So while they all discuss what to do about Beth, Jack's let me take her some lunch in the vaults. She didn't want to eat at first, but after we talked a bit, she finally had a nibble. Poor girl. Like she hadn't eaten for days.

So the plan is to freeze her. Jack didn't much like the idea, he's still not sure it'll work, but he's giving it a try. All things considered I get the idea he'd be happier (not happier… that, he'd feel more secure) ending it now and moving on. The way Gwen's getting on with Beth, this solution's probably more for her than anything else. In fact, Jack was complaining to me about Gwen. The way she always tries to be so 'nice,' when everything she was saying to Beth was a lie. Jack thought Beth should know the truth, to be prepared. I told Jack that, yes, she should know, but that sometimes being prepared for something doesn't make it any easier. That sometimes to hear a gentle lie is better than the silence, especially when deep down you already know the truth anyway.

Beth has been frozen and placed in cold storage. Gwen's taking it hard. I think they could have been friends, outside this place. Making her a pot of that chocolate-flavoured coffee she likes. Maybe that'll-

Okay, more to Beth than meets the eye. She's escaped being frozen, escaped the cryo-bed, and escaped the Hub. And she did it all without killing us. Why? (Not that I'm complaining.) Where would she go? I know where I'd go, who I'd want to see, if I were her. Jack and Gwen have gone to check on Mike Halloran, just in case I'm right.

Well, I was almost right. Thought she'd go visit her partner. Didn't, however, think she'd kill him. Jack and Gwen have her again. Seems like she's not alone in all this, unfortunately. In a coordinated attack, there's been an assassination of the City Coordinator and an explosion of an underground military fuel line. I've also just advised Tosh and Owen that there's been another explosion, this time at the TSS-MSC.

So what does Owen think they do at TSS-MSC? Telephone. Mobile. 'Telecommunications Switching Station and Mobile Switching Centre.' It is right there in the name. Can he really not grasp the idea that the entire phone network can go down? Granted, Owen's idea of trouble-shooting his phone is to turn it off and then back on again… Okay, leave it to Jack to think of CB Radio. Of course, he is the only one of us who was actually alive when the thing was last used, back in the 1970s.

Did find it at least a little funny and a bit sweet, how lost Tosh looked when she couldn't hook-up to the internet. And she's always debated me on keeping the hard-copy files and books. I'd take a moment for a "Ha! Told ya so!" smirk, if the city weren't about to be destroyed and all.

Why, exactly, do people keep proposing orgies? Are they like this all over? Or just in the Hub? All my time at Torchwood One, no one ever suggested… okay, well actually once… So, outside Torchwood, is it really such a common suggestion? Or is it just the people around me? And why in a room with other people, do they invariably look at me when they make the proposition?

As it was, Jack saved the day, stopped the bad-guy, and put a great big bloody slash through his greatcoat, front, back, and a lapel. Well, if nothing else, my tailoring skills offer me job security. As long as there's a Jack, he'll have that coat. And as long as he's with Torchwood, it will always need mending. Jack loves that coat too much to ever let me go.

Jack didn't want to risk it again. Risk Beth escaping again. Risk what information she could pass on. Risk more lives. He wanted to have to have Tosh arrange a freezer 'malfunction.' I told him he couldn't do that. Beth has proven that she can help. That she wants to help. He stared at me for a minute or two, but I didn't back down. It wouldn't be right. Jack knew it. In the end, he nodded and said okay. Now I just have to deal with the mess he's made with the duct tape and that CB antenna on the SUV.

I'd managed to remove the adhesive from the mirrors on the SUV and all. When I entered the Hub I heard Tosh, 'I'll do it, but I'm not happy.' I could see the expression on Jack's face and I knew what I'd missed… I wanted to yell, tell him, "We talked this over and agreed that it was a bad idea, agreed we wouldn't do it." Then, an earlier conversation washed through my mind: That being prepared for something doesn't make it any easier. That sometimes a gentle lie is better than the silence, especially when deep down you already know the truth of it. Jack was going to kill Beth. He had to, and we both knew it. He'd hoped to spare me from feeling part of that necessity. I'd followed him to his office unsure as of yet if I was going there to try to change his mind, or just offer support. Turns out I never had to decide, and neither did Jack. Beth made her own choice. In a final act of… humanity, she spared us the decision.

Gwen was taken hostage, again. Jack says that this makes the fourteenth time. I reckon it at an even dozen, but then again, Jack does often seem to overestimate Gwen. (Snarky? Okay, guess the B-68 hasn't worn off entirely after all.) But in the end, Beth helped Gwen feel that she'd done all she could, as well. She's still a little upset. Blames Jack, and probably the rest of us, for Beth's death. That's okay, if it helps her feel better.

I understand... It's still hard. I still see in Beth the woman who loved her partner and so desperately wanted to just be normal again. And in that certain way, she seems so familiar… This is the first time that I've shot anyone human, or at least even human-ish. Jack's done his best to convince me that Beth had another, original form, a true form, that she was a hideous killer alien who loved nothing but death. He should know better. I could see that it was fiction, a kindness. I do appreciate the effort. Speaking of effort… Jack's complaining about Gwen again. That he doesn't know how to deal with her when she's all depressed. I suggested he try the classics: reverse-psychology. If he acts all disheartened around her, her natural reaction should be to look on the bright-side, cheer him up. He looked at me rather dubiously, but I would be willing to bet he tries it on her. (It's always worked for me on Jack.)

Gwen's in with Jack now. Looks like it might be working. Anyway, Earlier Jack had mentioned my shooting stance. There in the middle of the Hub, alien threat, hostage situation, and he has time to notice how I'm standing when I fire? Guess I should be flattered. In any case, after Gwen finally leaves tonight, Jack has ordered me to report to the firing range for a 'refresher course.' Maybe I am still thinking too much, but I can't help wondering what that really might mean.

Gwen's gone for the night. Everyone's gone for the night and it's just Jack and me. The firing range 'refresher course' went well. Mostly involved Jack pressed as close up against my backside as physically possible, fine tuning the way I stood while I put holes in paper images of Weevils. When we were done and packing-up, he mentioned the whole conversation during the brain scan earlier. He'd guessed that the B-68 played a part in all that. He did mention, however, that if anything like that were to ever happen again, when I wasn't under the influence of an official Torchwood experiment, the outcome would be a bit different. Jack said he'd put me in the interrogation room all right, and that once there, he'd take down my trousers and put me over his knee. I swear that man has the ability to regulate those pheromones of his. They seemed to be working overtime. It's getting really so hard to say no (To Jack, not to the spanking.)

/////

Tosh cornered me this morning. She wanted to talk about the… suggestion Owen had made yesterday, when it looked like we all might die. She wanted to know if I thought he'd been serious. Doesn't matter. There are just some things, Tosh, that I would never do; not even for you… and Owen is one of them.


	33. Tommy

I think maybe I can understand Jack just a little bit better now. While I still can't control everything I say, I'm now able to temper it slightly. I can now at least regulate how much I say. With effort and a bit of concentration, I can hold my tongue. And I think maybe that's how life is, all the time, for Jack. So much he knows, so much he could say, maybe even wants to say, but doesn't, or can't. Maybe he fears the effect. Over time he's found that it's better, or at least safer, not to answer questions (especially about his past.)

Owen said what he was really craving was some hot chocolate, like I'd made them while we were in Tibet. Tosh and Gwen joined in, with a chorus of, 'Please, please, please?' Jack seemed to be pouting. Bit later on, he told me I never make him hot chocolate. I told him he should have gone with us to Tibet.

//////

So it would seem that there's yet another side-effect the B-68. Seems that it lowers one's immune system response. As such, I've gone and caught myself a right proper cold. Brilliant. Owen said, 'Oh? Didn't I mention that before?' Think I'll go sneeze on him.

I can't be sick. Jack's told me I can go home and get some rest. I can't go home. What if the Rift spits out some hideous alien menace and I'm tucked-up in bed?

Jack's told me that if I won't go home, he at least wants me to stay warm and dry and out of the archives. He wants me to minimize my activity. When I told him it's really not that bad, I'll be fine, he said, 'Have to take care of you.' I felt dizzy, and it had nothing to do with my cold. Jack's added another project for me to work on: Track down possible sleeper cells. Shouldn't be too hard, I image they're all linked together as friends on Facebook or something.

//////

Last night some git kept calling-up and not saying anything. Ended up unplugging the phone about midnight. Really started to consider changing my number. Would it be a misappropriation of Torchwood funds to run a trace? Maybe I should just call Laurie at the phone company and see what she can do about it for me.

Tosh brought me in some soup she made. I feel better already.

Jack's having Owen feed the Weevils and all while I'm sick. Think Jack blames Owen for my catching a cold. Why not? I do.

/////

Finally had a good night's sleep and am feeling better this morning.

Found what could have been traces of a sleeper agent cell, but they all appear to have died in a freak cricket accident three years ago. Cricket fatalities from anything other than shear boredom?

Running low on chocolate digestive biscuits, milk and paperclips. I should make a trip to the market.

When I mentioned that she seemed quiet today, asked if something was wrong, Gwen complained that Jack had finally promised her the night off and of course Rhys has to work late. I told her I had a new recipe for cawl I wanted to try. That I'd never made it before, could she possibly give me a hand with it? Her face lit-up and all afternoon she's regaled me with stories of making cawl with her Gran. Now I'll just have to stop at the market on the way home and pick up some lamb.

Think Gwen figured out pretty early that I knew my way round my kitchen and didn't really need cooking help. Keen investigative skills, P.C. Cooper. Still, had a nice evening and in the end, I don't think she missed Rhys too, too much tonight. Will say, the woman can go through a bottle of wine in no time. Had to end-up putting her in a taxi. We'd spent all evening chatting about pretty much everything. Including when she got overly serious and told me that she knew all about Jack and me. (Brilliant.) She also told me that while she finds Jack, 'Absolutely sexy-attractive,' that even if it weren't for Rhys, she still wouldn't go after Jack. Gwen grabbed me by my shoulders, looked me straight in the eye and slurred, 'Because he loves… you! Whether he knows it himself yet, or not. Don't let him convince you otherwise, Ianto. Plus, you're probably the only one who can straighten him out.' Have I mentioned that I bloody love Gwen Cooper? And that I'm just not quite completely drunk? Maybe I should go straighten Jack out now… Or maybe in the morning.

//////

Gwen looks a little worse for wear this morning. Apparently her taxi got her home just at the same time as Rhys was pulling-up. When he asked if she'd been at work, she told him no, dinner with a mate from work. Seems Rhys got at least a little bit jealous at that. (Probably assumed it was with Jack.) In any case, he's vowed that he won't work late anymore, so Gwen's a bit hung-over, but incredibly happy.

I was really starting to think that it had been some kind of hallucination. Something brought-on by that retcon test. I saw her though. This time I saw her clearly. The one with the Mohawk she didn't leave with the others. Nash told me I'd miscounted and I wasn't going to argue with him in the middle of the Himalayas. I knew I hadn't miscounted! But why is she still here? Is this an incursion? Do I need to report to Jack that we have an alien loose in the Hub?

Asked Jack about the alien incursion and he laughed. No answer... Just a laugh. Well, I've done my duty and reported the incident. As far as I'm concerned, she can stay (as long as she doesn't fall under the control of the malicious bottle cap that's still being held in the vaults. Then, no one would be safe.)

Jack's finally noticed that I now have a computer terminal in the kitchenette area. Observant, isn't he? It's only been there about a month. He told me it was a good idea. I told him it was Tosh's. I'd come back from the field with Owen and found it there, up and running. Jack went on to mention that I only had one terminal, while Tosh had six. I just shrugged, beats being stuck in the Tourist Office all day, or using one of the other's desks. Jack wondered how I could be so efficient, with such limited resources available to me. Told him it's not the size of my work-station, but my ability to multi-task. Jack replied, 'C'mon Ianto, you and I both know size has never been an issue where you're concerned.' Would have been flattered, if Gwen hadn't chosen that moment to appear. So, as it was, humiliated as usual.

////

As it's been a while, and the hospital accounts needed tending to, took a trip this morning to Flat Holm to visit Jonah et al. Really hate to say it, but I think he's getting worse. Helen mentioned that I'd timed it well, gotten there right at the beginning of a good phase, but we only had about 3 hours of X-Box this time before he started to get that look.

Got back to working on some of my projects, including the Royal family research. Cricket is starting to look exciting.

Tomorrow's the 20th. Tosh was too excited to get much done, so I told her I'd finish running those numbers on the Rift limitation regulator she's been trying to occupy herself with all afternoon.

//////

Tommy's up and de-frosted again. Must be odd, waking-up every day of your thawed life to the same questions and the same tests… just so often, from his point of view, it's with new and different people… Must be disorienting. So Tommy woke-up and punched Owen. Guess we all have different coping techniques. Speaking of coping, 'You don't have to make the coffee anymore. You are a certified field agent now.' Jack has told me that on no fewer than seven separate occasions. As has Owen in Tibet, and Tosh as well. So why is it, that when there's tea or coffee wanted, all eyes still turn to me? It's not that I mind doing it. I like making coffee, a lot. Just wish they'd stop telling me I don't have to, that I'm more than that… then go and forget, the minute they get thirsty. Top it all off, Jack's asked me to make everyone breakfast as well. 'And Ianto, could you make it something… special?' Why the hell not? Everyone deserves something special, right? Everyone.

If you want something 'special,' really could give me a little advance notice. Not much in. Just have to make do. As it was, 'bout all I could get together was pancakes with fruit compote, and assorted toast, rolls and croissants. Guess Jack was happy with it, said we should have a breakfast meeting every morning. As if I don't have enough work to do. Speaking of work, now I've got all the washing up to do.

Trying so hard not to think of it, but standing at the sink, with nothing but a pile of dirty dishes… It's tomorrow. Another year tomorrow. Can it really be another year? Everyone always says it'll get better with time. I guess it does. But not right now.

Tried being stoic. Just wasn't working, so I gave-up and had a good cry down in the archives when no one was looking. Since then I've decided to try immersing myself in mundane tasks and all, delivered a round of coffee. Well at least Gwen's noticed. She didn't ask why. Probably assumed it wasn't anything important… or she didn't care. She'd asked me to pull some more photo plates from the archives. Torchwood 3 from around the time when Tommy first arrived. Looking at them with her, its all the more evident. Every one of them, every one of us. Still, at least Gwen noticed something… more than anyone else. Tosh, she has an excuse, she's got Tommy today. Owen, well, wouldn't expect Owen to care at any time. Would however, have hoped Jack… that he might ask me what's wrong. That he might notice. But no. Nothing. He's off at the abandoned hospital and now Gwen's gone to go meet him, and I'm alone again (or is it still?)

Rift spikes that Owen is monitoring seem to correspond to the 'ghosts' at the hospital. Must mean that the time sifts are getting worse. Gwen says the ghosts, the people, can interact. That they can see you just as you see them, can't help but think how it must be for them… at least we know what's going on, scary as it must be, we know the logical reason. What must those poor people have been thinking back then?

Jack's in the conference room with the others, explaining linear time dilation theory. I'd be willing to bet that right now he's doing that thing where he crumples-up the piece of paper. In the meantime, he wants me to finish these budget reports. Beginning to think that he's trying to keep me busy… my mind occupied.

Finally finished the first draft of the budget. Asked Jack to take a look at it and the recommendations I've made while the others are working on the whole time shift dilemma. Just realized, Jack has me working on ways to pay for the up-coming fiscal period, while everyone else is working to keep us from merging with the past.

Jack's shown me the sealed instructions. He told me that he was going to ask me to be the one to talk to Tosh. I could see in his eyes, he already realized what I said to him next, "But we both know it needs to be you, Jack." He looked again at the sketch of Tosh, 'Yeah, and it's one of those times I hate being the boss.' I moved to sit against the edge of his desk and I told him, "But you'll do it. You'll convince her. Convince her of the importance. Convince her that she's stronger than she feels she is." He's working himself up to talking with her now, while I locate Tommy's uniform in the archives.

Talking with Jack, he told me about some of the times Tommy's been woken before. Which led to talking about the Torchwood personnel that he's known. He got quiet, 'I get to know people here, to get close, and they all die… so young.' At the 'so young' he looked into my eyes with such pain and torment. I guess Jack has learned not to get that close again. I know how he feels. I really do understand. Over the years, he's lost so many co-workers, so many friends. Is it better? Or worse? That Jack's losses have been spread-out over so many years. For me, they were all gone in a single day. Everyone I knew there, gone, so fast… so young. Then there was Lisa. She died there… and again here. Everyone dies at Torchwood. If it is… inevitable, if it's unavoidable, only a matter of time… then time is the one thing I really can't afford to squander on jealousy or self-doubt. I want Jack back and waiting to see if things can be different is absurd. I'm missing time I can never get back. Time with Jack.

'We can't let him out of our sight. With his history of shell shock… This is too important.' With that, Jack left me to watch Tommy while he spoke with Tosh. Alone in the conference room with him. What could I do? What could I say? I know full well what happens when he goes back. One more life to be lost saving the world.

Everyone else has left for the night. Tosh's taken Tommy home with her. Hope she knows what she's doing there. She knows she's going to loose him. Will tonight make it easier to say goodbye? Or impossible? Just now midnight. Jack wants us all back in by 6:30. Guess I should head on home as well. Just see if there's anything Jack needs before I go.

////

Last night, when I went to Jack's office, he was still looking at the 1918 notes. Looking for what? I asked him if given the chance, would he choose to go home? Jack, still the master of deflection, just smirked and asked if I'd miss him if he did. Don't think he expected me to say yes. In any case, he continued. Actually almost answered my question (after a substantially deep breath) 'I left home a long time ago. Don't know where I really belong. Maybe that doesn't matter anymore.' Seeing as Jack seemed in a mood to truly talk, I asked if he gets lonely. He paused, 'Going home wouldn't fix that. Being here, I've seen things I never dreamt I'd see…' I could see in his eyes memories of the past. 'Loved people I never would have known…' I had to look away, knowing that he didn't mean me, and probably never would. '…If I'd just stayed where I was.' Jack made eye contact for the first time since we'd started talking, 'And I wouldn't change that for the world.' In those eight words, in the depths of the glisten in his eyes as they held me captive, I knew… I knew that he did mean me.

This was it; this really was Jack saying that he loved me. Okay, it wasn't like in the movies, not like a Valentine's Day card, but since when has life ever been that way? This was Jack. Jack's way of saying it. And he was saying it… to me. That one look. In those azure eyes… It was as if I could see into his heart and his soul, and there was a place held reserved, just for me. There was no mask, no cover, no distraction and no deflection, just Jack, laid bare, and more naked than I'd ever seen him before. Every doubt I've ever had about him, about us, suddenly seemed so ridiculous, so impossible. All I want in this world was sitting there in front of me, and he wanted me too. Suddenly, and for a very long time. Jack and I are always best when we don't think too much. And I suppose I've been thinking way too much lately.

Jack asked how I was doing. At first I thought he meant it in just a casual way, and then I saw the intensity. He knew. I answered that I was okay. The intensity deepened further. When I told him I was fine, he asked if I was sure, did I want to stand-down today. "Really Jack, I'm okay. Much better than I expected." He didn't say anything else, just nodded and headed for the door. After three steps he spun on his heel and returned, pulling me into a hug that threatened to render me unconscious. A kiss on the cheek later, his hand grabbed mine and pulled me from the office at the sound of the cog door opening. So now this morning, the anniversary of Canary Wharf, I thought I'd be as much of a mental wreck as I was last year. I've been dreading it, miserable in anticipation of it. This morning, however, my thoughts are captured elsewhere, and I am not despondent. Jack. He's humming again. Not Cole Porter this time. No, this morning he'd picked-up my mp-3 player and is humming along with Keith Urban, _You Look Good in My Shirt._ What can I say? Didn't have a spare shirt in my locker this morning and no time to go home and get one. Just wonder if anyone else will notice.

As surprisingly neither Owen nor Gwen had been late, we met Tosh and Tommy at St. Teilo's. (I had half expected the two of them to make a run for it, let time implode rather than say goodbye. Guess Tosh really is stronger than anyone knows.) We were no sooner in the hospital when we hear singing. Creepy singing. A moment later a nurse, a nurse from 1918, walked right in front of us. Enough to throw anyone off, Tommy looked unnerved and ran off. Tosh and Jack followed him. Jack ordered us to stay back, give Tommy some space.

Still, we could hear their shouting, the accusations… Everyone always blames Jack for the shit in this world. I remember when I did, for Lisa. It isn't fair. How can he ever get used to it? Being held responsible all the time, for everything… Jack came back. Gave Tosh a chance with Tommy, alone. Gwen and Owen were deep in conversation and not looking at us. Jack stood by me and whispered, 'Tommy just can't understand…' I took Jack's hand in mine. He looked down at our hands and back up at me. I smiled, hoping he'd realize what I meant. I think he did. He returned my smile and I felt him squeeze my hand before releasing it with a, 'C'mon, people. Let's make sure this worked.' We were all heading down the corridor, back towards Tosh and Tommy, when she came running down the hall towards us, yelling, 'Go!' After the hospital, Gwen drove Tosh's car, and Tosh rode back to the Hub with us. Gave her my handkerchief and held her hand. By the time we arrived, all her tears were either wiped or dried. The shift, however, hadn't been stopped. Something was wrong.

Owen had a brilliant idea. Psychic projection. Can I just say how much I hate that idea? Jack could get stuck as a figment of Tommy's imagination, or disappear completely. It really could kill him. I wanted to yell, protest, stop him, but if it didn't get done, everyone would die anyway. It's selfish and I'm ashamed to admit it, but I was ecstatic when Tosh volunteered to go instead. I love Tosh. Really. The thought of loosing her is heartbreaking. But the thought of loosing Jack, especially now… But no one was lost. Well, no one but Tommy. Could I do what Tosh did? Work so hard to save the world, if it meant sacrificing Jack? To be absolutely honest, no. I would take his place.

Jack's given everyone the rest of the weekend off. Says it's time to relax, and the Rift should behave itself for a little while, given the work-out it had today. He asked me to stay tonight. I told him I didn't have any clean clothes. Jack said I wouldn't be needing any. I couldn't help but laugh, even though that only encourages him.


	34. Overtime

There's simply no way to express how I feel right now. Last night, being with Jack again, I can't deny it's exactly what I've wanted. What I want from now on. Didn't even realize just how much I missed him, holding him, waking-up with him, staying with him.

Mid-afternoon and now that everyone's gone, it's just us, and it's so quiet. Took Jack a mug of hot chocolate and some biscuits. Finally managed to locate some of those mini-marshmallows he likes. He looked up at me from behind his desk, his hair tousled. I could tell he'd been running his hands through it just before I'd entered. Something in his paperwork wasn't making sense. Apparently giving everyone the weekend off doesn't include himself. He was tired, (and more than a little beaten-down by emotions as of late.) It seemed to take a moment for his eyes to focus on me in the doorway. When they did focus, the grin that spread across his face made my heart race, and me to smile in return. Jack leaned back in his chair, 'Thought you weren't staying… something about not having any clean clothes here?' I almost told him that clothes were over-rated, but instead told him he could come with me, back to my place and we could pick some up. Could Jack's grin get any bigger? I set the mug and plate on the desk before him. He didn't break eye contact, 'How do you do it, IantoJones?' I sat on the edge of his desk and asked what, precisely 'it' was. 'How do you know exactly what I want… or need, before I know I want… or need it?' I told him that it all depended, as I moved around behind his chair and started in on a back-rub, the one that starts with the thumbs in small circles at the base of his neck. The one that always makes Jack purr. 'Depends on what?' Jack slumped in the chair, and I moved my thumbs out along his shoulders. It depends on the kind of day… 'Hmmmmm' was his only reply, so I continued, "Lots of paperwork (mostly budgetary admin) a 33 minute call from UNIT (mostly just bothersome) no current real alien threat or Rift activity pending (that we know of) and Gwen on all day about wedding plans (to which none of us here has actually been invited) and not to mention the whole 1918 bleeding through to present day thingy… So all-in-all, by (I looked at my watch) 3:43 p.m. on a Saturday, I guessed it was time for a break." Jack moaned slightly as I moved to that spot behind his jaw, 'Hmmmm. But hot chocolate? With mini-marshmallows? And the cookies? All with a back-rub? All together? How do you know what'll be… perfect?' Jack had relaxed completely now, firm shoulders now like jelly. I thought for a moment and realized I really didn't know. In fact, I started the next sentence before I knew how I intended on finishing it. I told Jack that I always just did… what felt right. He pulled me around until I suddenly found myself sitting on his lap. 'You know what I think feels right, IantoJones?' I smiled and opened my mouth to answer, but Jack put a finger on my lips and continued, 'This. This feels right.' And the kiss that followed felt right. (Admin paperwork can always wait 'til tomorrow… Or next week.)

Finally made it back to my place, Jack in tow. Picked-up some clothes. (Jack seemed to have ideas of relocating my entire wardrobe.) Also grabbed a couple of DVDs and while I was there I packed us a picnic dinner to eat back at the Hub. I probably don't really want to know what Jack was doing while I was busy in the kitchen. I think he was in the bedroom going through all my drawers.

Tonight's Cole Porter selection? _In the Still of the Night. _While Jack was locking-down the Hub for the evening he wandered, lost in thought, humming. (_In the still of the night, As I gaze from my window, At the moon in its flight, My thoughts all stray to you.)_

* * *

Jack still tries to claim to the others that he doesn't sleep. He can't try that line on me. When we're together he not only sleeps, he snores… and occasionally drools. Last night he talked in his sleep as well. The bits I didn't understand, I tried not to listen to. But there were other bits, bits about me. Best as I can tell, I think he dreamt that he was taking me home to meet his family. No idea where 'Boshane' is located. Sounds more Scottish than American. (Like Bo'ness?) I can't help but think of that as a good sign… at least his sub-conscious seems to be committed, seems to think we have a future.

Sunday morning and for the first time in longer than I care to remember, Jack and I have the Hub to ourselves. It's raining like crazy outside, so much so that the sound has made its way down to us here. Have I mentioned that Jack made me breakfast this morning? One would think that in 150 years, the man would have taken the time, learnt how to cook… But I have to say, even with runny eggs and burnt toast, it was the best breakfast I have ever had. When I thanked him for it, he said that I was so worth the effort. Yep. And so is Jack.

The Rift has been absolutely quiet; I'm beginning to wonder if Jack's kicked-out the plug to the monitor. It's something that's easy enough to check… yeah, as if I would. Spent a good part of the day curled-up on the couch with Jack, just reading. Can't help but feel I've kept him away from important, urgent work. Also can't help but think, "Good."

To say that Jack doesn't 'need' sleep, the man sure can nap. There's another small wrinkle or two around the eyes, a couple more gray hairs. I know Jack won't tell me what happened, in all that time while he was away. He doesn't have to. Whatever it was, I can see it wasn't easy on him. One day I hope he tells me everything, that he'll not only feel that he can tell me, but that he should, that it will help. That'll be the day that he finally believes, realizes that I love him enough not to care what he's done, who he once was. That'll be the day that he loves me back, completely.

Called Tosh. She's doing okay, considering. Asked if she wanted to meet up later and talk. She said not yet.

Made Jack dinner. If this happens with any frequency, I'm going to have to insist on a proper kitchen. Can it really be Sunday evening? Already? What's the point of living on a Rift in time and space if we can't manipulate time for our own personal desires? Not fair.

* * *

Monday morning again? Hope it's a quiet one, but really, this is Torchwood.

After a day and a half of Just Jack and me, it's so noisy. What is it about the hothouse that makes Owen feel the need to sing? And dance? What is it about glass walls that allows him to believe we can't see him? Reckon it's the same as Tosh thinking we can't see her laughing if she holds her hand over her mouth. So by that thinking, right now we shouldn't be able to see Tosh laughing at Owen singing.

For all his talk: look at me, I'm charming, I'm great looking, I'm a dashing hero (all of which I have personally heard him say… within a period of a few hours,) I'm beginning to wonder if maybe, somewhere deep down inside, Jack is really quite insecure. Always so worried what everyone will think of him. He pretends to know how fabulous he is and is usually the first to say it… is it because he worries that if he doesn't, no one else will? Can he really doubt? Could Jack be that unsure of himself, of other's opinions? And could that be part of the reason he won't acknowledge me in front of the rest of the team? He worries what they'll think?

The effects of the B-68 truth serum have long since subsided, but I used it as an excuse to ask him outright… I asked Jack straight-out why he does that, why he can't seem to keep his eyes off me, but only when there's no one else around. He started to make a joke, that half a nod with the big, lop-sided grin. Something in my expression must have made him stop and reconsider, to think a bit. The grin faded. I wasn't playing, and he knew it. Jack paused, as always re-calculating how much to say, 'Wanna know why I don't look at you in the field, on a mission, in a meeting? It's because once I start, I can't stop looking at you. The world could end because I was lost in the blue of your eyes. And it'd be my fault.' I asked him what about when the world wasn't in jeopardy? When it's just the team, in the Hub, on a slow day, why not then? Jack paused, probably needing to recalculate yet again. Instead, he asked me why I thought it was. I really didn't want to answer, to put my worries into words, in case they turned out to be true. Even without the residual truth serum effects, I told him. If I ever expected Jack to be honest and open with me, I could hardly be less so with him, "You don't want the others to know about us because I'm just the tea-boy and you're the boss. You could do better and everyone knows it. You want to keep your options open. I'm a mistake. You think they'll think less of you, if they knew about me. You're planning on moving on again soon anyway. You were never serious about me." It was my turn to pause, mostly because I needed to breathe. Jack never gave me a chance to continue my tirade; he ticked-off his reply on his fingers, 'Are you finished? Number 1) You were never _just_ the tea-boy, 2) No one could do better, _ever_. 3) Neither need, nor want, options. 4) NEVER let me hear that from you again. EVER. 5) You have got to be kidding, that could only increase anyone's opinion of me. 6) Not on your life. 7) Only as serious as a heart attack.' (I must admit, I didn't quite understand #7, but I have to applaud him for listening enough to keep his answers in order and appropriate. At least I think they were, my head was spinning too much to tell, really.) He continued, 'You want to know why I don't tell the others about us? Because there shouldn't be an _us_. There can't be an _us_. Don't look like that. Wait… I tell people to keep their personal lives and their Torchwood lives separate. In fact, I make it an order. If you don't keep them separate, you let them mix, both suffer. People suffer. People die. In all my years at Torchwood, I've seen it… too many times. Years ago, I made it my own personal rule. I vowed I'd never… it's a distraction, and the problems it causes… it's a vow I've stuck to, until now… until you. You have no idea… You don't know how hard I tried to resist you, IantoJones. But it was no use. So just how am I supposed to say, _Keep it separate! Follow my rules! _When I can't? Tosh complains she can't find anyone outside Torchwood who will ever understand her. She feels alone and thinks it's tough. She should try my life… I'm sitting through a meeting trying to solve a planetary crisis, but I can't concentrate because the man sitting next to me is making my heart beat so fast, all I can hear is the sound of my own pulse in my ears. That, while the world hangs in the balance, all I want to do is pull him across the table and kiss him. And if I can't do just that, well then, the world was over-rated anyway… I will tell them, I'll put it in an official memo if that's what you need…' I placed my hands on Jack's braces and the front of his shirt and pulled him across the table to me. After a kiss of some length, I told him I didn't need a memo, just him, and some occasional eye contact.

Alien threat. The kind that lets me know it's going to be a long day. There's apparently an egg or cocoon in Barry. From the description, Jack's worried he might know what it is, or worse, what it'll become. He and Owen have gone to take a look.

Jack would be happier if he weren't right all the time. From his experience, moving the thing would be: 'Bad.' Leaving it to its own devices (and to deal with hatching in a place like Barry) won't work either. In any case, if we can't move the thing we'll have to work out an alternate way to deal with it.

About 1a.m. Jack sent the rest of the team home for some sleep. While he's working on a plan, I'm making the 11th pot of coffee today and researching "Galbrugia, Plinithite and Alberganth'th." Think that last might well be a village near Cardigan Bay.

Morning now and not much progress has been made (although Gwen announced that she's finally chosen the bakery for her wedding cake… not sure that announcement couldn't have waited.)

Jack has sent Gwen to track-down someone she arrested once. Thinks that he might know something that could help. Tosh has gone with her.

Based on Gwen's informant's information, Owen and I were sent to find a Mark Higgins in Caerphilly, convince him to part with a bit of tech he'd acquired. Have to say that after negotiations failed, Owen did most of the… convincing.

Owen and Tosh have been debating how to operate the device for the better part of two hours now. Jack said to give them another five minutes and if they haven't worked it out by then, he's just going to drive over and pummel the thing with the device. I suggested we just drive-over the cocoon with the SUV.

Finally sorted. Another one of those days without end. Its 9p.m., which all things considered, isn't very late. Except that its 9p.m. Tuesday, following a 39 hour work day. Home now, at last. 17 messages on the answer-phone? 16 are hang-ups and one was a sales pitch. Really need to change my number. Looking forward to a hot shower, hot cup of tea, and a… cold bed. No Jack tonight, but that's okay. Really. Just too tired, even for Jack. Once that kettle comes to the boil… then again, maybe the tea can wait 'til morning. Not the shower though. Shit… Text message. If Jack thinks I'm coming back in tonight, just 'cause he's lonely…

The text was sent from Owen, but the message was from Jack: Three weevils down by the docks. And it can't wait 'til morning. Brilliant. Why me? Didn't I go last time?

Okay. Okay. Okay. Three weevils are in the vaults and it's now 4a.m. I can still grab a shower and a couple of hours sleep on the lovely Hub sofa before… before what? Work. Yep, before back to work. First, need dry clothes out of my locker. Did I mention I fell into the Bay? Actually, wrestling a weevil, _we _fell into the Bay. Had to be the first of the three, too. To be fair, didn't really matter much anyway, pouring down with rain as it was. I am utterly soaked through. Suit's ruined. Well, suit was pretty much ruined by weevil number two's claws anyway. Enough… Shower then sleep.

Overslept. Fell asleep in the locker loom and didn't wake 'til 9. Jack was cross. Yelled at me in his office for five minutes. Pointing out that technically I wasn't late (I was in the Hub, just asleep in the locker room) didn't go over well with Jack, and I don't think he was listening, really. As such, refrained from pointing out that if you _really, truly_ wanted to get technical, I'd been at work the entire night (and the night before that.) Thought it best just to stand and look at the floor 'til Jack felt guilty about yelling at me. A mumbled, "Sorry, Jack" and he felt very guilty. Jack apologized for yelling at me. Seems I'm not the only one having a rough morning.

Asleep against my locker, I had dreamt of last night. Not a dream, that's too gentle. Nightmare reality. The first is done, a cold and total submersion. Freezing and fetid. Now a dark rainy alleyway, the rough brick walls, like cliffs, on either side of me towering above, blocking escape. Thrashing. Grappling for supremacy. Punching, struggling, strangling. The graffiti on the walls, marking someone's perceived territory, but tonight, in the dark, this territory is mine. The weevils, they considered it theirs. Outside a news agent's stall, Glenwood of Cardiff, closed for the night, locked and shuttered against the pouring rain and the darkness of night. The second hit the steel of the roll-down door with a thud and a high, piercing scream, almost like a girl. Its claws on my shoulders, my hands on its throat, squeezing. Discovering a pressure point on its neck. If you can hold it hard enough, it'll drop a weevil in 30 seconds. Try to hold a weevil by the neck for 30 seconds. (There is the added bonus of keeping its teeth from your throat.) I imagine it gives the weevil a hell of a headache… and I don't care. Stalking behind the third, it was unaware of my approach. Then… it tried to get away, tried to run, but I was actually too quick for it. Growling. My stun gun finally fired and as the volts shot into the weevil, I realized the problem with stun guns in the rain. At least I woke before the alien. It was still slumped against the wall where it had fallen, looking for just a moment, a little less alien.

Trying my best not to fall asleep as I wait for the coffee to brew. Kept finding my eyes closed and my head tipping forward. The only thing keeping me awake is the coughing. Really hope there's something interesting in the morning meeting or I'm going to pass-out.

How can Owen sit there in just a t-shirt? I'm so freezing cold, my teeth are starting to chatter. Something's not right. Jack just came and reminded me that the weevils Owen caught last night still need to be fed. I only saw the three I got last night. Did I miscount? Really hope we don't have an escape. That's the last thing I need this morning.

Didn't miscount. Only my 3 weevils are new. Beginning to suspect Jack had actually sent Owen hunting last night. If I wasn't so light-headed and sleep deprived, I would have realized that the text didn't even sound like Jack (JAK SAYS 3 WVLS BY BAY. NOW. DONT COME BACK W/O.)

Asked Owen about the text last night. Asked him if it was really meant for me. He just sneered and told me he was 'too busy' to go and to 'get over it.' If I felt up to it, I'd have yelled back.

Jack got on me for coming in sick. I'm not sick, just a little cough and a fever. He glared at me, 'Who's gonna save the world if we all get sick… because of you?' After Owen admitting to me that he'd sent me on _his_ mission, plus the general rubbish way that I feel, I was in no mood for it, so I just asked Jack if he wanted me to leave. Think Jack realized that he'd been a little too harsh and told me 'No, just go make yourself some tea or something.'

Jack seems ready to kill me today. He says he asked for something from the archives at the meeting this morning, but I really don't remember him asking me for anything at all. Then I couldn't find it, the device he wanted from storage. He stood there in the door to the archive, arms folded, staring at me while I searched through box after box. Eventually, with a rather theatrical sigh, he left. Of course I found it about a minute later. When I took it to him in his office he was talking with Gwen and Tosh. Seemed like whatever they were working on wasn't going well, so I left the device on Jack's desk without saying anything and was going to just slip out. Jack called me back and proceeded to scream at me. He doesn't scream often, but when he does… I really didn't know how to respond, what to say. Wasn't even sure of what Jack was saying, only that he was angry, and angry with me. Then I became aware of a new sensation. A really rather urgent need to be sick. I had to push past Gwen and Tosh who were still standing there, looking like they wanted to be anywhere else. Barely made it to the loo before I was sick. Now the chills are back.

Ran into Jack in the corridors. As if this day couldn't get any worse. He accused me of running out of his office to go and cry. That voice of his can be so loud, even when he isn't screaming. He told me that I'm a Torchwood operative and I should learn how to act like one. I could tell when I entered the Hub that the others had heard it all. It's been a long time since they've avoided making eye contact like that. I wanted to tell Jack that something was wrong, that maybe I really was sick, but it'd just sound like I was making an excuse. And I can't be sick. Shouldn't be sick. Act like a Torchwood operative.

* * *

Okay. Apparently I am sick, really quite sick. There was a file that went with the device from the archives. I had found it where I'd left it earlier, on the coffee machine. Tosh tells me I stood and stared at it for ten straight minutes. Just stood there and stared at the closed file folder, like I didn't know what the thing was. She tells me when I saw Jack leave his office, I walked straight over, handed him the folder, smiled at him and then hit the floor. Collapsed, straight down, without a word.

This morning I woke-up in Jack's office. A bit of a start when I opened my eyes to see Gwen's face, up close and grinning broadly at me. I've been told that it's now Friday, the 27th. Someone had moved the couch in here and I've been informed that I'm not to be released from it until I've had more rest, probably Monday at the earliest. Tosh has brought me some of her DVDs to help pass the time. Appreciate it, but really? Fred Astaire? Think I'd rather watch paint peel.

Owen came to check on me. Not in a particularly loquacious mood, he poked and prodded, took a blood sample and my blood pressure. There was a constant grimace on his face for which I suspected Jack might be responsible. I started to tell him that I hadn't told Jack about his text message, but he interrupted. Owen told me that I had acute pneumonia. That I was over-worked and undernourished and that I'd been rather close to dying. He informed me that it was his fault, that he'd told Jack about the weevil text, and that in addition to a formal reprimand to be entered into his file, he would be responsible for a complete and total top to bottom cleaning of the vaults as well as being the only one on-call for the next month. I told him I was sorry. He frowned at me. When I told him that if he needed help with cleaning, or back-up while he was on-call, that he should call me, Owen just squinted at me, then he shook his head, laughed and left the office saying, 'Bloody fucking amazing.' What?

Everyone's been in to see me today, several times. Everyone except Jack. Must be a busy day, to keep him out of his office this long at a time.

Must've fallen asleep. When I woke, the lights were dim in the Hub. Late afternoon. Jack was sitting behind his desk and humming to himself. Cole Porter again. It was a little hard to hear, from across the room, but after a few bars, I had it: _After You, Who? _I closed my eyes again and listened. This time Jack didn't just hum. A few of the lines he sang quietly, (_For the rare allure about you, Makes me all the plainer see, How inane, how vain, how empty, Life without you would be._) Jack's voice, that lovely alto. (_After you… why, should I take the time to try? For who else would qualify?)_ He returned to the humming and for a while and I could feel myself almost drifting back to sleep. I opened my eyes again, this time to find Jack now kneeling by the couch, 'Feeling better?' Told him yes, a bit. He brushed a lock of hair from my forehead, 'Had me worried.' I said I was sorry and he laughed, 'Only you, IantoJones, would apologize for coming down with pneumonia due to being over-worked and over-nice.' Over-nice? 'Yes. Over-nice. Even if that text had been from me… you should have replied with shove-it and just gone to bed. Owen would have.' I pointed out that I'm not Owen. 'Well that's obvious.' Jack stroked my arm and pulled the blankets further up under my chin. I said I knew what he meant, that, like he'd said, I should act more like a proper Torchwood operative… 'NO!' Jack's vehemence startled me slightly, 'That's not what I meant. And I never should have said that… I didn't mean it. I'm sorry. Rough day. Any other day and I would have noticed the state you were in, your condition. Any day… I should have… It's no excuse, Ianto. I should have known, I should have… I'm sorry.'

Very heartfelt moment, interrupted by a bout of coughing that made my eyes tear-up and my chest burn. I could see streaks of blood on my handkerchief and tried to move it before Jack noticed, but he had already caught my wrist. Our eyes met, tense. Jack smiled again, 'Owen told me that might happen. Common with pneumonia. Don't worry. You're gonna be fine.' I relaxed a bit. Jack continued, 'But you're still doing it aren't you? Trying to deal with everything by yourself. Taking care of everything, everyone… everyone but you. To start, you need to let me know when something's wrong. You need to let me help.' Told him I hadn't wanted to bother him. Jack just closed his eyes and I could see that he was frustrated with me, and then he just laughed.

I have the feeling we'll come back to that conversation again later, but I'm not sure we'll ever come to fully understand each other's point of view. Until then, Jack's made me dinner and is putting on a DVD. I have been patently forbidden to get up, let alone help him in any way. Okay. I can sit here, wrapped-up in blankets on the couch, and wait while Jack does everything. (Don't see why I couldn't even just set up the DVD.) Apparently Owen brought in some of his movie collection for me as well. Glad we aren't stuck watching Fred Astaire, but given Owen's penchant for horror and Sci-Fi films, and the way Jack always hides behind a pillow for all the scary parts, could be an interesting night.

_Hold my hand and swear, you'll never cease to care. For without you there, what could I do? I could search years, but who else could change my tears into laughter, after you? _


	35. Portrait My Life as Young Couch Potato

Dreamt of it again. Not a dream, that's too gentle. Nightmare. The first is done, a cold and total submersion. Freezing and fetid. Now a dark rainy alleyway, the rough brick walls, like cliffs, on either side of me towering above, blocking escape. Thrashing. Grappling for supremacy. Striking, struggling, strangling. The graffiti on the walls, marking someone's perceived territory. The weevils, they considered it theirs, but tonight, in the darkness, this territory is mine. Outside a news agent's stall, Glenwood of Cardiff, closed for the night, locked and shuttered against the pouring rain and the darkness of night. The second hit the steel of the roll-down door with a thud and a high, piercing scream, almost like a girl. Its claws on my shoulders, my hands on its throat, squeezing. Discovering a pressure point on its neck. If you can hold it hard enough, it'll drop a weevil in 30 seconds. Just try to hold a weevil by the neck for 30 seconds. There is, however, the added bonus of keeping its teeth from your throat. I imagine it gives the weevil a hell of a headache… and I don't care. Stalking behind the third, it was unaware of my approach. Then… it tried to get away, tried to run, but I was actually too quick for it. It's growling now at a high and frenzied pitch. My stun gun finally fired and as the volts shot into the weevil, I realized too late, the problem with stun guns in the rain. At least I woke before the alien. It was still slumped against the wall where it had fallen, looking for just a moment as if it were human.

This morning, like I wasn't even in the room, Gwen was pestering Jack about some comment he'd apparently let slip earlier. Something about the 1950's. He obviously didn't want to talk about it, but she wouldn't let it go. Jack glanced at me, still imprisoned as I was, on the couch in his office. I couldn't tell if the look said, 'Help me' or 'If you weren't here of course I'd tell her everything.' By the fact that Jack then tried to hide behind an empty file folder and look busy until Gwen left, I'm going to believe that it was more likely the former. I wonder if Jack has ever stopped to realize, for all his secrecy, that as Torchwood's archivist I have access to all the files, including his. I know all the combinations to each and every safe (all of them.) I know where it's kept (all of it.) I could look any time I wanted to, find out everything… but I don't. Because if he wanted me to know, he'd tell me. One day he will. Until then, I don't look, I don't ask, I wait. I wait for Jack to trust me enough to tell me himself.

Owen checked me over and says that with a bit of luck, and a lot of rest, I might still have a chance of surviving all this. Don't understand why everyone always says Owen has such a poor bedside manner, really.

Tosh asked if I'd like some more DVDs. That depends on where she intends on obtaining them… She squinted at the monitor I'd been using, told me it was bad on the eyes and left. She was back about ten minutes later with a large plasma screen that I suspect came from the conference room.

* * *

This is really not the most comfortable couch in the world, especially for sleeping, and particularly when you consider that I'm too tall to actually lie full out on it. Did I mention how incredibly bored I am?

Had a visitor this morning. The others had gone to check on some disturbance, leaving Tosh at her station to coordinate (and baby-sit.) I was just starting to fall asleep (what else is there to do?) when I felt a tickle on the back of my hand. A furry tickle. Sure enough, when I opened my eyes, there on my chest was a little ball of blue fur with the spikiest Mohawk ever sported by a hamster. She smiled and waved. With this one, the smile always looks like a smile, not a death-threat. Smaller teeth, I suppose. Well, smaller being a relative term and all... Seems she's been working on her understanding of English, which is good, because all that sign language would have been difficult laying on the couch and all. As it was, she could sign to me, and I could reply verbally. We chatted, practicing our understanding of each other's language for quite some time. I heard the proximity alarm sound and the team return (rather noisily) through the cog door. Just before she ran off, I asked why she hadn't gone home, with the others. That hamster smile coupled with what I can only describe as a roll of the eyes and she was gone.

Thought that Jack might be starting to grow tired of looking at me, taking care of me. So I went to go make a cup of tea for myself. When Jack looked up from where he was chatting with Gwen at her desk, he stopped mid-sentence, marched over to block my path and pointed back to his office with a rather stern frown. Jack then informed me that if I tried that again, he'd break-out the handcuffs. Once I was back on the couch, tucked under the blankets, and a teacup steaming away next to me (courtesy of Tosh) Jack further informed me that once I was feeling better, he might bring out the cuffs anyway.

Have I mentioned how boring this has become? I can't stand just sitting here. I'm so desperate that Tosh's Fred Astaire movie is starting to look good. Well, when I say good-

Rift monitor sounded. There was some debate out in the Hub and it took me a moment to realize why. They were arguing over who would stay behind to watch over me. What am I, three years old? Go! Save the world, I'll be fine. Yes, I'll stay on the couch.

Now I wish I'd pouted and had one of them stay with me.

Ended up off the couch and at Tosh's station after all. Turns out the Rift spike deposited a treble threat on the city centre. Made my head spin, Tosh's six monitors and coordinating the team via the comms. Think maybe I'm not quite over the pneumonia, after all. In fact, when the team got back with the two C'ranthi and the associated Lavanigth, seems they found me passed out on Tosh's desk. Don't really see the issue. I came around soon after and all. But apparently Jack's mad at me now. Insisted on carrying me back to the couch in his arms, even though I told him I was perfectly capable of walking. After Owen checked me over, I was left alone with Jack again. He frowned at me for a while, to the point where it was really becoming uncomfortable. Then Jack stalked over to the couch and told me that if I got off the couch one more time, he really was going to punish me. Punish? What does he mean by that? And what if I have to pee?

* * *

After another hard night, this morning Owen checked me over and said I can finally get off the couch. So according to Jack, I still can't leave the Hub, go in the vaults (possible alien infections) or the archives (too damp) but at least I can wander a bit. First thing, I headed to my station, see what kind of mess had been made of my coffee machine. Nothing. Doesn't look like it'd even been touched. Did notice an inordinate number of paper coffee cups in the bin. The entire time I'd been confined to the couch, no one had even bothered to make a single pot of coffee?

Hadn't been at the coffee area five minutes when I had a queue formed. Owen was first, with the pretense of checking that I was still feeling alright. Tosh came next, and at least she had the honesty to ask if there'd be coffee soon. Gwen followed shortly thereafter with questions of what everyone else was doing. Just had the espresso machine up to pressure when Jack finally showed-up and moved straight to the head of the queue. Over the quite noisy protests, Jack announced, 'Hey! I'm the boss, the line always starts behind me.' How can you argue with logic like that?

Jack's still not letting me do a whole lot of anything. He let me file a few things for him. Then I coughed once and he made me sit back on the couch for an hour until I could prove I wasn't getting worse again.

Tonight, when the others had left for the evening, Jack wouldn't let me go home. He insisted I spend the night on his bed. I told him I could get a taxi home. He said no. I suggested he could drive me. He said it wasn't going to happen. I opened my mouth to propose another option; Jack put a finger on my lips and shook his head, 'Don't trust you.' I have to admit I was a bit shocked, Jack saying that… outright. He looked at me a moment, reading me, then smiled as he must have realized how it had sounded. 'I don't trust you to stay in bed, to stay warm, to look after yourself. You'd be up all night baking cookies for the team.' (That's not fair, I'd only done that once.) Jack continued, 'Or you'd be up at dawn, so you could stop at the market on your way in… You never think of yourself, Ianto. So I'll just have to do it for you.' Jack smiled at me, that one smile that I really think is _just_ for me.

* * *

Jack said that last time I used his private shower I left it cleaner than I found it. I don't understand, he said it like it was a bad thing.

Owen's happy with the sound of my lungs. Told him that's nice of him to say and I've always been happy with the sound of his thyroid, but thought it best if we kept things on a professional level between us. (I really have been spending too much time around Jack.) In any case, after hitting me on my shoulder, Owen has told Jack that I'm fit to return to duty, 'Or at least as fit as Tea-boy here is ever gonna be.' Thanks, Doctor Owen.

* * *

Finally able to go back into the field and of course there's nothing going on, nothing at all. Brilliant. Jack still won't let me go into the archives, says that the dampness down there is unacceptable. I find the boredom up here equally so. What did I do all those hours in the Tourist Office? Can't even remember what that was like, what life was like back then. All day, every day.

Resorted the recycle bins. And who says my life isn't exciting?

Tosh and Gwen were deep in a philosophical discussion when I took round the morning coffee. The crux of said debate? Who was hotter, Wil Turner or Captain Jack Sparrow? (Such monumental questions to be answered.) I was trying my best to deposit the coffee and go away unnoticed, when Gwen up and says, 'Bet I know which one Ianto likes better!' Turning to me, she mouthed, 'Captain Jack!' with a big toothy grin. Raising an eyebrow, I gave them that mock seriously insulted look that always seems to achieve its goal. They glanced at each other with a look of, 'Shouldn't have implied he'd have an opinion about men.' Tosh was just starting to stammer out some sort of apology when I turned on my heel and strode away. 'Ianto, wait…' Gwen called. I couldn't leave them feeling too embarrassed by my teasing, however, so I called back over my shoulder with a wink, "Besides, I always liked that Norrington guy best, anyway.'

Spent some time on my projects. Starting to think that there really is something odd with the royal family… okay, extraterrestrial-odd. I have ruled-out vampirism. (Jack says there's no such thing, anyway. I'm not so sure.)

Jack asked me to stay tonight. Took that to mean that as Owen had declared me fit for field duty, Jack had also released me from house arrest (or is that Hub arrest?) Strange, after so many nights, the option to stay or go home being mine again. I didn't know what to say. I didn't know what I wanted. Told him that I really should make an appearance at my flat before the neighbors had me declared missing or something. Stupid Ianto. I immediately realized that going to my flat tonight was exactly _not_ what I wanted to do. Being alone was not at all what I wanted. Anyway… I said goodnight as I headed for the door to Jack's office, and apparently Jack took that to mean, "C'mon over to my place." 150 years old, maybe he needs to get his hearing checked. Who am I trying to kid? I'm glad he's here. I love hearing him in the other room as I cook us dinner. He seems to find such joy in rummaging through my things. Tonight it's the hall closet. Don't know what he expects to find… I've had all the skeletons removed.

* * *

Jack asked me about all the hang-ups on my answer-phone. Tried to convince him it's nothing. He finally let it go, but I think he's concerned. Should I be concerned?

This morning in the meeting, Owen made some joke that prompted Gwen to start humming _It's a Small World_. Owen screamed like he always does and chased her 'round the conference room table. Tosh joined in with the usual reference to ToonTown. At which point, all the Disneyland jokes were systematically tossed about. All the while Jack just sat, with a strange bewildered smile on his face. I recognize that look. I used to see it the mirror. It's the look of someone standing on the outside of an inside joke. Only this time, I wasn't the one on the outside. I could share the Disneyland jokes with the rest of the team, but I remember that feeling… So I hit Jack in the face with a paperclip instead. He looked at me and I just winked. The strained smile on his face lightened to one I like much better.

There's a Rift disturbance over in Bute Park. Research indicates it's something called a 'Jalcandinth.' Research doesn't specify if that is _what_ it is, or _who_. Tosh, Owen and Gwen have gone to check. Jack and I are here alone and I can't help but wonder if he's still keeping me in the Hub, regardless of Owen's medical prognosis. He's working on his review of the budget I finished a fortnight back, so it's not like he had ulterior motives of _that_ kind, in keeping me here with him. Probably should ask him outright if he's ever going to treat me like a proper, fully certified field agent. But as always, I don't, because I rather fear the answer.

Tosh, Owen and Gwen came back from Bute Park. Owen and Gwen were covered in the most foul-smelling splatter imaginable. Apparently Jack knew what a Jalcandinth was, and more importantly, it's capabilities. Now I come to suspect that Jack perhaps had other motives in keeping me in the Hub. Really hope he warned them before they went. (Or did this have something to do with all those Disneyland jokes this morning?)

Jack says he did warn them. Not his fault that only Tosh paid attention. Also, yes, Jack had plans to take me to dinner tonight and didn't want me all covered in Jalcandinth in the middle of the restaurant (or in the middle of whatever may follow, for that matter.)

Tonight, lovely dinner, beautiful restaurant, just Jack and I… and he starts to talk about the budget report. That deserved not only a roll of the eyes, but a head-shake as well. Is this so he can expense our date? What it all came down to, Jack figured-out that I was paying for Torchwood's coffee myself. Tried to explain that I was only making up the difference in cost between what Torchwood 3 used to pay for coffee when I first started and the beans I chose to switch to. Jack said that it was unacceptable and that if I didn't stop, he was going to have to do something about it. The glint in his eye let me know that the 'something' was going to be of a very personal nature, and would not include a written reprimand in my file. Have to admit, I'm tempted to see just what that 'something' is…

I've never really thought about it before, but I've come to realize that there is nothing Jack loves more, than for me to remain fully dressed while he's as naked as he can be. Seems to place him at somewhat of an advantage in many respects, but I really can't figure out how it works that way. Don't really care, as long as he keeps doing it. I do so love the way his hands feel when they slip between my waistcoat and my shirt… Or how, when he's kissing me, and his fingers always work their way under my collar, or to the buckle and tie on the small of my back…

* * *

Jack has a new hobby… humiliating me at work without anyone else even realizing it. He keeps regaling the team with stories of our current exploits: where, when, how many times, even when we try new… Anyway… He never really says, but he implies that each and every one of these… experiences is with someone new, someone different. (Makes me wonder a bit about this 'reputation' of his.) Anyway, while it's nice to know how much he's enjoying everything we're doing, I really could do without the others knowing it too, even if they don't know that it's me, all me. I blushed so red I'm surprised I didn't set off the Rift monitor. Why won't the Rift ever just open and swallow me? Really?

Spent the morning deep-cleaning the coffee machine. I've made a few modifications as well.

Dinner at home tonight. With Jack, of course.

Tonight Jack actually accused me of being a hazard to his waistline. Said my cooking is too good to decline, and that if he isn't careful, he's going to need me to let out all his trousers. I told him he just needs more exercise. Will I never learn? With that and a 'Thought you'd never ask!' Jack pulled me into the bedroom. Four hours (!?!) later and he's only just now let me out to make some tea.

* * *

This morning, I'm in the shower, thinking about that report. Before I know it, Jacks there too. Steaming hot water. Steaming hot Jack. Told him he was going to make me late for work. He said he'd have a word with my boss. Told him I wasn't sure that'd be enough, that my boss can be a little hard sometimes. Jack pouted, 'Only sometimes?' Yep, I was late. We both were. Took separate cars, so at least we didn't arrive together. I'd only been there five minutes when Jack arrived, but I don't think anyone noticed. When Jack came through the cog door, whistling, Tosh asked him, 'Late night?' Jack's reply? 'Oh yeah! And early morning. And for that matter…' Owen wanted details, 'Was he, or was it a she, Hot?' Jack, with a grin, a wink and a second, 'Oh yeah!' Tosh put a sympathetic hand on my shoulder. She seems to think that I've got an unrequited crush on Jack and am wincing at his talk of his other, new, and multiple conquests. In fact, I'm pretty sure that both Owen and Tosh have the idea that Jack had seduced me back before he left, but that he moved on and hasn't looked back.

Gwen's been talking all afternoon about Rhys and how happy she is with him. (Just who is she trying to convince?) Owen abandoned Tosh to it after about 30 seconds and has been working on the autopsy of that Zeppelian Beetle ever since. Asked him didn't he autopsy that just last week? The smirk and a, 'Can never be too thorough… and it beats the alternative.' He nodded in the direction of Tosh, who now sat with a glazed expression, 'Whatcha think Tosh is contemplating right now?' The class D unidentified artifacts inventory, I answered. Owen looked at me, a cross between a squint and a glare. I continued, "Reckon she's trying to figure which might be used for vaporising Gwen into a fine mist." Owen stared at me a moment longer before cracking a wide grin, 'Naw, Tosh'd never do that. She'd go for the device that'd make it so only Gwen could hear her own voice or something. Subtle, that's our Tosh.' I think Tosh would do well to be a little less subtle. Right now I wish she'd tell Gwen to 'sod off' or whatever phrase she'd prefer. Can't Gwen see the effect she has, every time she waxes on about how happy she is in her relationship? That she has a relationship? Poor Tosh has been head-over heels for Owen ever since I've known her. Poor Owen, he's still lost over Diane and clueless over Tosh. And then there's poor me, I've got Jack and no one'll ever even know about it. Why does Gwen go on about it so much, so often? Gloating? She's supposed to be the sympathetic one… always going on about being more human and all. I should stop now, before I put myself in a mood over this.

Jack always tells me that I pout. He should try looking in a mirror then. He was convinced I'd forgotten the cocoa-sugar sprinkles on the top of his latte. Nothing I could do seemed to convince him that I hadn't forgotten, just that we're out and I haven't been able to get to the shops recently. Jack can be such a little boy sometimes. I actually had to go get the empty bottle out of the bin to prove to him that I hadn't forgotten how he likes his latte.

Jack didn't ask me to stay tonight. I'm not upset at that, because while he didn't ask, he just assumed I would. So we were waiting on Jubilee's delivery and Jack started humming his Cole Porter selection for the night. I sat and watched as he walked the Hub, powering down the unnecessary equipment. As he sauntered to behind where I was sitting, Jack actually paused, sidling up behind me, he put his arms around me and hummed (_No, my darling, this is the reason why you've got to be mine…You'd be so nice to come home to. You'd be so nice, by the fire. While the breeze on high, Sang a lullaby, You'd be all that I could desire._) The buzz at the front door interrupted Jack's tune briefly. The pizza had arrived. As I headed up the steps to the Tourist Office, I could still hear Jack as he resumed (_Under stars chilled by the winter. Under an August moon burning above, You'd be so nice, You'd be paradise_…) I was out of hearing range at that point, but I really hope Jack didn't stop there. I'd like to hope that the rest of the verse was included, (_To come home to… and love._)


	36. Mmm Meat, It's What's For Dinner

Every night I'm destined to wake with it, or so it seems. One of three drowning and gasping. Then dark canyon of brick and paint, blocking a horizon unseen. No escape. Thrashing. Seizing and snatching. The jaws that bite, the claws that catch. Territory. Dark territory. Alone. Always alone. Glenwood of Cardiff, much business here? Wouldn't think so, closed. It's shuttered door the last rest after one final scream. My hands on a throat, a pressure point on its neck. 30 seconds is so long. Keep her teeth from your throat. Giving her a headache… and I still don't care. Three of three. Stalking, unaware. The weevil tries to get away, but I'm too quick. Growling now, a shrill and harried timbre. Stun gun in the rain, amateur mistake, one I won't repeat. Will I ever dream about anything else? Anything… pleasant, again?

Alesha called. Apparently I'm in trouble with her. She ran into Owen in a pub last night and he had told her about my bout of pneumonia. Brilliant. So it seems she's doubly mad at me, first for not taking better care of myself, and secondly for not telling her about it. She said that since I've been looking after her and Jade, the least I could have done was allow her to return the favour. She yelled at me for a good five minutes. It was like talking to Mam on the phone, "Yes… sorry…well…sorry… yes…okay…sorry…I know you care…" This all would have been rather heartwarming, if she hadn't chosen to call in the middle of the morning meeting. Jack just laughed… and of course so did everyone else. And still no Rift storm to open and swallow me whole. Such is my life.

* * *

Call this morning from Eve with the police. Seems Kyle's finally put in for that transfer, so at least someone's getting over his commitment issues. We'd been chatting for a good few minutes before she finally remembered why she'd called. RTA, lorry with 'suspicious' cargo. Not much in the way of details, she's trying to get more, but it's sketchy right now. Jack's waiting on Owen before they head out. Quarter to one and he's still not back from his appointment this morning. Probably stopped off somewhere. That's okay Owen, we'll just tell the world to hold off on getting destroyed for a bit. In your own time.

Tosh just limped up to Jack and told him that she got her foot caught in some loose cabling, twisted it. She asked him if I could take her spot when he went to investigate the lorry. Jack said sure not a problem and called over to me, 'Suit-up! Oh wait, you already are.' Jack has the cheesiest grin when he thinks he's being amusing. Tosh seemed to be walking just fine as she returned to her station, until that is, she noticed me watching her. Nasty delayed limp you've got there. I think she was just trying to give me a chance at some more field experience (as Jack seems reluctant to trust me in the field, he still doesn't send me out much.)

Jack's taken to assigning seats in the SUV. I'd reckoned that it was to avoid the usual squabbling. This afternoon, however, he admitted to me that it's so he can look at me in the rearview mirror while he drives. Flattering as that may be, it also explains his often erratic driving. Eyes on the road, Jack.

When we had arrived to the crash site, Jack had assigned duties before pulling to a stop. Owen and Gwen were to be with him in the van; He told me to check with the police, get what I could from them. Gwen questioned why she wasn't assigned to liaise with the police. My guess, it's because she insists on using words like 'liaise' all the time. Jack, however, answered, 'Cause I said so, and I'm the boss. I am still the boss, aren't I? If there was a memo, I didn't get it.' At that point, Gwen actually stuck out her tongue at him. Maturity is such an attractive trait. Anyway, Jack continued, 'Ianto's talking to the cops because he's the one they refer to as the 'nice, polite one' and they might be more inclined to tell him things.' Yes, of course that caused me to blush and Jack to grin. As we got out of the SUV Jack resumed, 'Of course, I've heard the cops say more about Ianto than just that, but for now…' What? What are they saying about me?

The rest of the team had entered the truck as I went to speak with the officers. When she called, Eve hadn't told me Ioan had been dispatched to the crash. Brilliant. As I approached, he offered me his hand and that dazzling white grin of his. He didn't seem inclined to let go of my hand anytime soon, until I indicated I needed to reach for my notebook and pen. Pleasantries exchanged, I managed to ask him about the lorry and details of where it was headed, cargo and the like. There weren't any details. Ioan showed me the vehicle's paperwork, largely blank. I'd asked him if that was common, for a manifest to be left so incomplete. Apparently it can cause some rather impressively exorbitant fines as well as some driver license points and administrative nightmares. So that'd be a no, then. Hopefully Harwood's Haulage has honest hardcopies at headquarters. (Abundant alliteration… I really need to get out more.)

When we had gotten back in the SUV, Owen mocked my notebook. Said I've been watching too many cop shows. Is it really any wonder that none of the police officers ever want to talk to him? I blame it on low blood sugar. He probably hasn't eaten today. Maybe I'll call Jubilee. Looks like there may be more to this whole thing and as such, could be a long night.

Back at the Hub, Jack and the others were down in autopsy, poking around at that hunk of flesh from the back of the van. Don't know how they stood it, the stench of it. Tosh and I were at her station, trying not to think about it, when she up and asked me about PC Ioan Davies. I asked her what she meant by that. Her eyes darted like she'd been caught with top secret, eyes only documents (or a particularly embarrassing tabloid magazine.) She finally admitted that when we first got back, Jack had asked her to run a check on him. Why? Tosh just smiled, 'Jack doesn't like it when the police show too much interest in a member of his team.' I asked if the police had been checking on Torchwood lately. No, apparently not the police, just PC Davies. And no, not Torchwood, just me. Does this have something to do with what Jack was on about earlier? The whole 'polite one' thingy?

So anyway, Jack had Tosh contact Harwood's and immediately Gwen got defensive. I never mentioned Rhys, just that the driver must've seen the lorry loaded. And I definitely never questioned Rhys' honesty. Started me thinking about all the blank spaces on the driver's paperwork. If the office paperwork were similarly incomplete, wouldn't be much use in tracking the source of the meat. Reckoned if we could find out where it was going and when, we might be able to determine where it had started out. Also surmised that Gwen would take it as another personal affront if I questioned Rhys' company's recordkeeping policy. (Thinking back, can it really be more than two years now? I can't imagine how different my life would have been if I'd accepted that job offer at Harwood's back then. If Jack hadn't finally given in and said yes, if he hadn't given me this chance. Could I have survived all this time in a job like that? In an office like that? How can any office function without proper administrative procedure and support?)

Jack handed me a fax that had come in, addressed to me. Ioan had sent a copy of the Harwood's paperwork, as promised. I told Jack thanks, but he just continued to look at me, still holding the fax and not letting go. I waited and eventually he did let go. I took the fax to my station and about halfway there I realized that Ioan had scrawled a note across the coversheet: 'Ianto, Here's the fax, as promised. You still haven't said yes to that drink, but I'm nothing if not persistent. Call me if you need _anything._ -Ioan.' Jack couldn't have thought… It was a business fax. Case-related. And he'd only given me his home number as a professional courtesy. I turned and looked back at Jack, but he was talking with Tosh, asking about her ankle. Tosh suddenly had a twinge of pain. Rubbing her leg she told him, 'It's a little better, but I wouldn't mind missing the next trip again, if Ianto's available instead.' Subtle.

I'd narrowed it down to three possible sites where the meat could have been loaded, and as two of the warehouses seemed occupied by bona fide companies, that left just the one listed as vacant. Listed, no less, by Owen's old friends at Lynch/Frost Commercial Real Estate. (Note to self: check on the Harper's Jellied Eels website later. Wonder just how many hits it's gotten, if Tosh's kept it active, that is.) Anyway, reckon the 'vacant' one's not quite as vacant as advertised. Just as Jack was starting to assign duty assignments, Gwen announced that she was leaving to check on Rhys. Jack looked stung for a second, but recovered. Agreeing with her, but adding, 'See how much she knows.' Gwen always resists his leadership. Always. Over everything. And he lets her.

So it would appear that while Jack waits here for Gwen to check on Rhys, Owen and I'll be going to scenic Merthyr to confirm my vacancy hypothesis. Tosh has reminded Owen a half dozen times not to forget the alarm deactivator and his stun gun when we go. I'd be willing to bet that one of them doesn't make it into the car. As there's no point in leaving too soon (thanks to a certain delay) I'm just packing some snacks for in the car. Owen didn't eat much of the pizza lunch.

So here we wait, Owen and I, in his car. We wait while something probably illegal, and most likely immoral, goes on in a giant warehouse just a hundred metres away. We wait and discuss if it's been too long for Owen to call Jane Hales to ask her out. We wait and debate the merits of canned process cheese food on crackers. We wait for Gwen to do whatever it is she wants. Because Jack lets her. Because he likes it? Because he likes her? There are times, times like this afternoon, when I'm sure he cares for her. Why else would he put up with the way she acts, the way she questions him? If that's so, where does that leave me? Am I nothing but… convenient? The one who said yes? Winner by default and not by choice? Wonder what Jack would do… if after making eyes at Gwen, he turned around, back to me, and I simply wasn't there? How'd he like it if I found someone else? Someone who saw me as grand prize, not a consolation prize, first choice. Someone who saw me… Someone who just saw _me_. There are times when I just feel like giving up, letting Gwen have him. I deserve better. I deserve someone utterly devoted to me. Life would be so much easier, my emotions so less… abused (or confused.) On the other hand, I'd be completely miserable, lost, depressed. I need… No. I've written it so many times, that I need Jack, but I don't think that's particularly true. If he did finally choose Gwen, or John Hart, or someone else… it wouldn't kill me. I don't need him. I've proven that I can live without Jack. I do, however, want Jack. And I want him enough, badly enough, to fight for him. He needs to realize that he wants me, and maybe he'll realize, that it's Jack who needs… me.

Jack and Gwen (God, how I suddenly hate putting their names together) had finally arrived. Don't know what's going on inside that warehouse. Pretty sure I don't want to know, either. In the brief moment the door was open, there was a smell. Perhaps the worst, most appalling odor. Awful, but worryingly familiar. Nothing good. Can't quite place it, but I know it'll come to me, probably in my nightmares. We were all set, in position to do our jobs and suddenly Jack tells us to stand down. Rhys was there, at the warehouse, talking with the suspected bad guys. Is there even a protocol for this? I should say at this point, I believe it's all just a misunderstanding, this. Rhys just isn't the criminal mastermind, evil, alien meat smuggling type. I looked to confirm with Owen, and we left. As we were leaving, asked him if he thought anyone would notice the security access panel that now had a bullet hole. Owen smirked, 'Maybe not. It is Merthyr after all.'

Back at the Hub, Ioan had called and left a message; he let me know that the crew from Dragon Rescue had taken the lorry to the secure holding lot for us, so at least I don't have to deal with that right away. Another message was from Craig, that he'd managed to get a hold of those concert tickets. I told Tosh. Confirmed that she wanted _two_ of them. She was so excited she did that little happy dance of hers. Told her I was glad her ankle was feeling better.

Gwen's headed back home, again. As Owen and Tosh were off working on their own projects, I had headed in to see Jack. I mentioned that it might actually be easier, (if it turns out that, contrary to appearances, Rhys isn't involved,) if he knew maybe just a little about Torchwood. Might have stopped him from feeling the need to follow Gwen, from spying on her, compromising the mission. Jack just looked at me. Making her keep the job secret has to be hard on her. Jack glared at me now. Against my better judgment, I decided to press. It's like… us, in reverse. You don't want Rhys to know about Gwen's work. You don't want anyone in your work to know about... Jack just walked away with a, 'What we do is none of their business.'

Gwen called. She's told Rhys about Torchwood. Never checked with Jack, just told him. Now Jack's told her to bring him in. The look in Jack's eye, it's worrisome. He says he just wants to find out what Rhys knows, and if he's involved with the meat warehouse operation. No, that's not the look I see in those eyes.

I asked Jack what happens to Rhys after tonight. He said, 'Retcon.' I asked wouldn't it be better to just control what he knows? Let him know a bit, let him _feel_ empowered at least? So Gwen can talk to her fiancé without lying. Jack again said, 'Retcon.' I suggested that with proper vetting and security, maybe some outside knowledge of operations wouldn't really hurt. Jack reasserted, 'Retcon.' He looked at me with that off-to-the-side stare and continued, 'This isn't about Rhys, is it? This is about relationships, here. Inside the Hub.' Jack told me that this had been Torchwood policy for a very long time, now. Maybe even since the beginning. I suggested that maybe it was time to reconsider a Victorian era ban on office romance. I asked if I could at least ask the others, Tosh and Owen, their opinions. About inter- and extra-office relationships, how they should be handled and if they should be allowed. Jack paused. Not a vote, but input, at least. Opinion only. He said as long as I didn't let them know it was actually being considered. (Did that mean that Jack actually was considering changing his mind?) Jack asked what I'd do if their answers weren't what I'd hoped. If this didn't go the way I'd imagined. I said, "Retcon."

I felt like a spy and an awkward one at that, trying to find out from Owen and Tosh what they knew about Jack and myself, how they felt about Torchwood relationships. I didn't really have to ask, I already knew. Tosh makes herself remain hopeful (both for me with Jack and her with Owen.) Owen has hardened himself further, in response to Diane, and probably Gwen as well. He doesn't want to think about it right now. And as far as a relationship between Jack and I is concerned, he just doesn't care. Right now, Jack is hovering up on the walkway above. He's waiting.

So, fiancé in the Hub. Yep, there was the big security threat, marveling at just how real Myfanwy looked. Last time I spoke with Rhys, I helped him pick-out that engagement ring Gwen is wearing. Told him then, if we ever met officially… we'd never met before. Reckon that was a pretty good test of his ability to keep a secret. As far as I'm concerned, he passes… unless of course, he'd just forgotten the whole shopping trip. (In which case retcon still isn't necessary for someone with a memory like a steel sieve.) I think I've figured out why Jack is so opposed to the idea of Rhys knowing about Torchwood. It's not because it's a secret organization. Jack tells a lot of people about us, boasts in fact. It's not even because it could become a security risk. No, he doesn't want Rhys to know because that's the one part of Gwen's life that Jack didn't have to share.

Jack's doing it again. Making his team feel like employees. He's doing it to assert his authority, regain control he's let slip. All I can say is, I usually like Jack in control, it makes me feel safe. But when he suddenly and without explanation or discussion, goes completely against all standing Torchwood protocol, I really have to question why? But maybe the answer is all too simple. Is Jack determined always to choose the opposite position from Gwen? Even if that choice has him siding with Rhys? Still, I have to wonder (because he doesn't seem likely to actually tell me) if there's more to it than all that. If maybe with all Jack's talk of no casualties, of stun guns and the like, I wonder if casualties like Beth and Tommy are starting to get to Jack more than he'll say (or may even realize himself.) Or is he just trying to prove himself to Gwen? That he has a 'human side' after all. As if you couldn't always see it, if you bothered to look. Still, Jack will have to admit, Rhys has provided some fairly decent intel. But there's something about the meeting… something that made me worry. Jack seems… She's the only one who can make him like this, so impassioned. This afternoon I wrote about fighting for Jack. I'm beginning to think it's too late, that I've lost him to her already.

Completed that 3-D computer model for Owen. Now it just remains to be seen if he'll honour his side of the bargain and write up that report on hemophilia in genetic transfer for me. So I'd finished the last bits I wanted to get done tonight when I came around a corner and almost ran into Jack. He grinned and asked, 'It's late, what are you still doing here?' I've been asking myself that very question. Jack laughed, 'You staying tonight?' Nope. I moved past him without even bothering to check if he looked even slightly disappointed. Just went home, alone.

* * *

In early this morning. Well, earlier than usual. (Why not? Not like I was getting any sleep at home anyway.) I was down in the vaults and I ran into the little blue punk hamster. In fact, I almost ran over her. Had the food trolley loaded up with weevil chow and couldn't see her down there on the floor. Her understanding of English is really quite good now. Rarely had to resort to signing anything to her. After I'd finished feeding Janet, she rode back to the storage room on the trolley and told me a bit about herself. There's no really translation of her name, but best as I can render, sounds like Jgem'a. She smiled when I said it. Don't know if she was letting me know I'd gotten it right, or was just laughing at my accent.

Thinking about Leighton Reynolds, the Harwood's lorry driver who died. A wife, now a widow, with a baby. He was 24 years old. 24. Yes, there was alien meat in the back of the van, but that wasn't what killed him. Just a traffic accident. Rain slick roads. But he died anyway, just doing his job. Just driving down the road. Can happen anytime, to anyone.

Trying to remain professional, even if all I feel is numb. Jack hadn't said a word to me since I arrived this morning, aside from thanks for the coffee and asking had U.N.I.T. sent that e-mail yet. He'd talked to Gwen, though. A lot. Now here we are, Owen, Tosh, Gwen and I in an alley in Merthyr. Waiting for the lorry, I think Gwen's going to wear a trench in the pavement with all her pacing. At first I reckoned she was anxious having Jack and Rhys alone together, undoubtedly talking about her. As I came to watch her, listen to her mumblings, I came to realize her anxiety was all for Rhys. She's told me a couple of times now that she's attracted to Jack's magnetism, but she'd never pursue it. First and foremost I think she really does love Rhys. Problem is Gwen isn't the problem. Doesn't matter to me if she would or she wouldn't. My only concern is Jack and whether he would or wouldn't. Right now, I think maybe he would.

They've finally arrived. Guess Jack and Rhys hadn't battled to the death over Gwen. But still, even as we were all climbing into the lorry, Jack was giving him that look, constantly re-assessing him. At least the trip wasn't too long. Owen said he'd concoct an antidote for the ketamine. Couldn't have done that for the B-68 a while back? Jack handed out the duty assignments and I was with Owen again. Bet he loves that. Anyway, when we got to the warehouse I could hear Rhys work up excuses to clear the workers from the loading docks. One he asked to fetch him a cup of tea. I recognized the man's enthusiastic response; it's the same as I hear in my own head every day.

I'd finally just figured out the warehouse smell. It was the smell of a house, a cellar, of Brecon Beacons. It was the smell of fear and flesh and the forsaken. Then we were going inside. Gwen rarely listens to Jack under the best of circumstances; if Rhys is in danger… really had a bad feeling about this. Inside the warehouse I followed Owen through the kind of plastic curtain used to keep walk-in freezers cold. This one seemed to be used to keep the stench in. Almost worked. Owen seemed to be trying to look… I dunno, tough? He entered ahead of me, gun drawn and pointed around the room. Only problem was it was a contact stun gun. I could imagine it; bad guy enters from the other side of the room. Owen growls, 'Hey you, way over there! Freeze! Or I'll come over there and stun ya!' Anyway, he sent me to check some rooms. Mostly storage, all stink. Owen really hasn't figured out stun guns, 'cause he knocked a guy unconscious, and then stunned him. Jack's made it pretty clear, though, stunning only. The bad news is the workers here didn't get the memo. They've got semi-automatics. The good news is… Oh, wait, there isn't any. I had to stun one of the workers. He was filthy. Got blood all over my coat, but at least it was my waterproof. Hell of a day.

It was at that point that Gwen had me check if Rhys had gotten away and I managed to run right into three of them. And in answer to your question Gwen, no, Rhys hadn't gotten away either. Bad guy, Dale I think it was, shoves his gun in my face (didn't anyone get Jack's no gun memo?) and asks how many. I didn't lie when I said, "Just us." Not my fault he didn't bother to ask how many in an "us." But shit! If he didn't tie a tight knot! Anyway, out in the main warehouse, I thought I'd caught a glimpse of Jack's greatcoat, a glimmer of hope that this could still turn out all right. Then I saw it, the thingy, the alien, the whale. I could almost feel its pain and its panic, physically.

Gwen didn't follow procedure, protocol. Not surprised, Rhys was in danger. I'd started working the ropes at my wrists. After a few moments, they began to feel slippery. This made me optimistic, 'til I realized it was my own blood making them slick. Gwen was trying so hard to save Rhys, keep him safe. Couldn't help but wonder what it's like, to have someone so willing to risk everything for you? Am I destined to always be just a little jealous of what Gwen and Rhys have? Jack's immortal, and I still can't see him doing that for me. In any case, we were almost in the clear, then next thing I know that gun is being jammed back into my neck. I've since realized that leaves a rather unusual shaped bruise. So I guess it was my turn to be the hostage, or at least the shield. Jack started working on the bad guys. Still can't believe it never crossed their minds that the huge, never before seen creature thingy could be an alien. How thick can you be? At least they were easily distracted, 'cause I was really working hard on those ropes by then.

Don't quite get it, Jack's the one arguing with him, but Dale up and shoots at Gwen. Ever loyal Rhys was the one to take the bullet, just as the last knot in my binding had worked free. Almost good timing on my part. I did manage to keep him from shooting the rest of the team at least. He kept firing into the air and into the alien. I threw my entire weight backwards, but I couldn't move him or the gun. He punched me in the kidneys. Apparently I never realized just how much that hurts. The rest of our fight was just a blur (to me) of punches thrown (mostly his) and received (mostly by me.) I think I managed to get on top once, but a right cross and I was on the blood soaked floor. Lovely. I do actually remember him aiming the gun at my head and realizing I was about to die. Also remember clicking. Then Jack. Jack's voice yelling, telling me to go after them. Couldn't breathe and I couldn't think, but somehow I got up at the sound of the panic in Jack's voice. The whale was thrashing, screaming, restraints whipping the air. The team was trapped. Jack was trapped and needed help. I needed to find Owen.

When I had found Owen, he was grappling with Vic the Vet. Vic wasn't helping, so I dropped him with my stun gun. I told Owen that the alien was loose and the others needed help. Owen would take care of the alien, but I needed to take care of the rest of the bad guys, all of them. I found the two bastard brothers in the office grabbing cash from a safe. Is that what this was all about, really? Money? Money for blood and pain and fear? I stunned them, but as I moved through the room, my only thoughts were of Jack and Tosh and Gwen and even Rhys. Thoughts of how I could cope if we lost any of the team. I headed through the building stunning everyone I encountered and moved them all back to the office.

Felt rather stunned myself, when I got back to the main warehouse. Owen had to euthanize the alien. Was that my fault? If I'd done more, sooner, faster, better… it might not have had to come to that. If I hadn't been a hostage, gotten myself caught. Jack said after he retconned them all he left them lying in the middle of nowhere, naked. I'm not sure if he was being serious when he told me that last bit. Also not sure it was enough. They should have been punished. As it is, if the opportunity arose again (and this close to the Rift, who's to say it won't?) Dale and Greg haven't learnt anything from this, they won't have changed.

Back in the Hub Jack cornered me, said he was concerned how I was doing. Informed him I'm fine. He said I didn't look fine when Dale had a gun to my head, when I was a hostage. Told him I wasn't worried. Jack leant towards me and whispered that I had looked terrified. Nope, not really. Maybe… concerned. Jack persisted, said I looked like I was about to faint, that I had a frown. (Me? Frown?) Informed him that wasn't fear, it was pain, pulling out of the ropes they had binding my hands. Shot my sleeves and showed him the raw skin on my wrists. Also noticed the blood that had dried on my cuffs, doubt that'll ever come out. Jack took my wrists and examined them, holding my hands in the corridor outside the conference room. Hostage situation? Not a problem. Now. Now is when I felt faint.

Jack took me back to his office without a word, I leant up against his desk and watched as he opened the safe and drew out a small grey-green box tagged Not-For-Use. He set the box on the desk next to me and took my hands again. There was a small strand of twine from the ropes, stuck in the wound. Jack carefully removed it, then ran his fingers lightly over the edges of my scraped and bloodied skin. Turning my hands over he seemed to notice what I had earlier, the undersides of my wrists had taken the worst of it. They looked like a rather awkward and ridiculous suicide attempt. Jack once again ran his fingers over the abrasion, lighter still. He opened the box and pulled out a length of fabric, like silk, but finer, with a glowing, iridescent quality. Without speaking, he gently wrapped my wrists in the fabric and held it in place. I wanted to ask, but I just watched. After a moment, he looked at me and said that this would pull a little, was I ready? Ready for what, I had no idea. I nodded and Jack pulled the fabric away. It stuck like a sticking-plaster, and felt like he was pulling out every hair on my wrists, one-by-one. When I looked again, every trace of the injury had been erased. I was still looking at my wrists when Jack dropped the cloth into the waste bin. As the material fluttered down, it disintegrated into a fine dust. I looked into the now empty box next to me, then at Jack. He nodded, '32nd century band-aid.' Impressive. Any more of those around? 'Nope. Last one on Earth.' Didn't he think he should have saved it for something important? Jack smiled, 'I did. Now, tell me about you and this stun gun of yours.'

Apparently Tosh has been talking incessantly about my activities while the rest of them had been dealing with the dying space whale and a bullet-ridden Rhys (can you consider it bullet-ridden with just one bullet? Rhys liked the term so I guess we'll stick with it.) By the time they had the scene in the main warehouse worked through, I'd managed to get the rest of the building and its various employees sorted. Stun-gunned the workers and stacked them in one of the offices. Wasn't anything, just something that had to be done. Yet for some reason, Tosh was impressed. She told me that my action figure will have to come with a stun gun. I'm just chuffed she thinks that I deserve an action figure at all.

This is my favourite time of day in the Hub. There's a soft lustrous quality to the light. A warmth to it. I know it's a pale counterpart to the light on the Bay outside, but there's still something about it that makes you feel happier, just a little glowing yourself. Or maybe it's the single-malt that Jack's poured me with a toast of, 'To your first hostage situation, 17 warehouse workers and your depleted stun gun!' Here with him in his office as he finishes the last of his work for the day. Owen and Tosh are in the Hub finalizing some tasks before they head out for the night. Gwen and Rhys have already left. Soon just Jack and I'll remain. I'm thinking about inviting him to that new Indian restaurant that just opened. Fancy a curry, and some time for just the two of us.

Once again Gwen refuses to follow Torchwood's rules and once again she gets away with it. And to top it all off, we're treated to yet another patented 'I've got a love life and you don't, you pathetic tossers' speech. Jack lets her do it. He won't stop her. He gives her what she wants. What she demands. And he loves her for it. He watched her on CCTV after she left. Stormed out yet again. He watched her go back to Rhys. Sitting in his office, he followed her every move on the monitors. While I was still in the room.

Over the last few nights, there haven't been any Cole Porter tunes. Can't say that's a bad thing. I think I know which one it would have been. Probably the one it really was, all along. I watched Jack move around his office and I could almost imagine hearing him humming it (_It's the wrong time, and the wrong place. Though your face is charming, it's the wrong face. It's not her face, but such a charming face, that it's all right with me.)_ That bastard, John Hart, had told me I looked like a man who enjoyed a challenge. Was he right? Is that what Jack is… what he was, a challenge? (_It's the wrong song, in the wrong style. Though your smile is lovely, it's the wrong smile. It's not her smile, but such a lovely smile, that it's all right with me._) Convenient. That word seems to come to mind so easily. There's a truth to it, a certainty. (_You can't know how happy I am that we met. I'm strangely attracted to you. There's someone I'm trying so hard to forget. Don't you want to forget someone too?) _I thought there was someone I wanted to forget, maybe, once. When it had just started. But forgetting isn't necessary anymore. I could remember Lisa and still love again. Could love Jack. After this, all this… (_It's the wrong game, with the wrong chips. Though your lips are tempting they're the wrong lips. They're not her lips, But such they're such tempting lips, that if some night, you're free…Dear it's all right, It's all right with me._) Convenient. Again that word. I'm starting to hate the very sound of it. Maybe I've been thinking about it all too much, for too long. I've missed the obvious, ignored it at least. I won't be that. I'm more than that. If I'm not what you want, Jack. If I'm not who you really want, then it's no good. I won't be convenient. Because that's not all right, that's not all right, with me.

It was a strange feeling, strangling, suffocating, drowning without water. I tried. So hard I tried, but either I'd already lost him, or I'd never had him at all. But Jack isn't mine. And so I left, left his office, the Hub, the relationship, and I don't think he even noticed I was gone.


	37. Assumptions, Decisions & Regrets

That was the first time I'd ever left the Hub, that I'd ever left for the day, without checking with Jack first. If he needed me to do something, if he didn't want me to go, if it wasn't okay that I just left… Well then, I really just don't give a shit. When I saw, when I witnessed Jack's reaction… I really did feel my heart shatter. I'm not being dramatic. There was an actual physical sensation. Feelings of absolute betrayal, and then that undeniable knowledge that everything Jack had ever said to me, all of it must have been a lie or at the very least deception, manipulation. Overwhelming sadness and loss. What I felt next was a complete hatred, a loathing… Not for Jack. Not even for Gwen, but for myself. How could I have let this happen, AGAIN? Of course it was my fault. How could I be so utterly stupid to have ever believed? To have trusted? Even if I don't know _who_ Jack is, I should realize full well _what_ he is. Furthermore, I should know that someone like him could never fall for someone like me. And it's not because I don't deserve someone stunning, charming, amazing… it's just that we were always so different, too different. It was never going to work between us, and I was being thick when I even tried… twice.

I found myself asking why couldn't Jack have chosen me? What did I do wrong? Found myself awash with self-pity. But images came to me as well. Memories. What did I do wrong? Nothing. Why couldn't Jack choose me? 'Cause he's a fucking idiot. He's the one making a mistake. A mistake that's gonna cost him, cost him me.

When I'd left the Hub I really didn't know what I was doing, where I was going. I stood and stared at the Bay for a while, at the railing just outside the Tourist Office door. If I'd moved two metres to my left, Jack would have been able to see me. As it was, I remained in the CCTV blind spot. The blind spot I'd told him about a half a dozen times before. The 12 page report was duly signed and returned to me to file in the archives. Ignored. Anyway, reckoned Gwen had left the Plass by now, so Jack would no longer have had a reason to be watching the CCTV anyway. Would it have mattered? If he had seen me standing there, staring out to the Bay. Would he have come out? Called? Cared? Well… Gwen wasn't around, so yeah, maybe he would have. What would I have done? Smiled and told him I was fine, or punched him in that lantern jaw of his and knocked him on his arse? I'd like to think the latter, but I should be honest with myself (seeing as no one else seems to be so inclined.) I'd just avoid him for a while, 'til I could figure out an excuse. A reason. Something so I don't have to tell him how worthless he makes me feel. Is that for him? Let him off easy, avoid confrontation. Or is it for me? So I can let myself pretend that he didn't hurt me so badly.

Funny that before… my Mp3 on random played Tom Jones and it was: _We Got Love, Give a Little Love, It's Not Unusual _or_ Love Me Tonight. _Now… now it plays:_ Delilah, Without Love _and_ I Who Have Nothing._ Even my music player seems to tell me… Whatever it was, it's over.

I haven't stopped loving him. I think I'll always love Jack, can't help it really. I just can't be like this. I can't do it. It hurts too much. At least I'm not sitting here crying about it, not yet anyway. Really didn't know what I was planning, thinking or even considering when I drove there. Panache: 1980s retro club. It's the kind of place, neither gay nor straight; they really don't care and don't even ask you to decide. Which is helpful since, before Jack, I'd only ever thought of myself as straight. I don't think I was thinking of anything at all when I walked in to the pounding beat of _What's Love Got to Do With It?_ But I think a plan had begun to form (involving lots of alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.) But before I'd even worked my way over to the bar, a rather strikingly attractive man had intercepted me. Green eyes and ginger. A shy smile. So different, so opposite. A new song had started, The Kinks, _Don't Forget to Dance._ The man reached out a tentative hand to my arm, smiled, asked me to dance… I must have said yes, 'cause he took my hand and led me to the still rather empty dance floor. 'You're gorgeous, you know?' in a quiet Scots accent. I smiled, but didn't know what to say, so instead we just danced. Slow, close, the smell of Calvin Klein, a soft touch, no one leading, no one needing to lead. I could feel myself relax. As the song faded and we pulled away from each other, perhaps a little reluctantly, I could see the smile in his eye as well as on his lips, a kind smile, shy. Before I could really think of exactly what to say (I think it was going to be something about buying the guy a drink,) there was a tap on my shoulder. I turned to see a girl with bright purple hair who came up roughly as high as my shoulder (the girl, not the hair.) She grinned and asked for the next dance. I turned back to the Scot and he nodded, 'Hard ta let ye go already. Will ye save another for me later, then?' I'd barely had a chance to smile and tell him okay when my new partner had spun me to face her, launching into a rather energetic set of moves to David Bowie's _Modern Love. _This was clearly the place to go to feel attractive, and wanted. And more than a little out of breath. As the evening progressed and the place grew increasingly crowded, I never got a single chance sit down. (It's strange, though, it seemed to be 'Find Ianto Jones a new theme song' night at Panache. So much of what they played was just too appropriate, considering the way I was feeling: Blondie, _Heart of Glass; _The Housemartins, _We're Not Deep; _Madness, _Grey Day _and_ Tomorrow's Just Another Day_; and a whole slew of frighteningly suitable Phil Collins songs.) At least I was never left alone, never felt ignored, or like anyone's second choice. I now have a pocket full of names and numbers, including my ginger Scot, David MacDonald, of Glasgow. (Note to self: check job openings at Torchwood 2. A transfer might not be such a bad idea.) Overall yes, Club Panache made me feel attractive and desirable, but also a little too much like prey. It wasn't what I wanted, so after a few hours, I just went home. Alone.

Don't know how much I regret my decision to leave the club unaccompanied. Here still alone in my kitchen, I'm finding myself thinking of PC Ioan Davies' brilliantly white smile. Every time we meet he asks me to join him for a drink. His partner, PC Lewis, once told me that Ioan defends Torchwood whenever the others start in, he sites me as a counter example when his fellow officers use words like 'rude' and 'arrogant.' She also told me that he talks about me, a lot. Don't think a quiet, friendly drink is what he's after. I've picked up the phone and started to dial so many times I've lost track. Thinking again of dancing at the club tonight, I believe maybe I've chosen my new theme song, at least for now. I'm going with Phil Collins, _You Can't Hurry Love._ I can wait.

Okay Jones, you are a complete imbecile, and you're gonna end up getting exactly what you deserve… AGAIN. So no sooner had I finished the entry above and made myself a cup of tea when there was a knock at my door. Thinking it's probably just a sales pitch of some kind, ('cause the knock is light, tentative, not like anyone I know) I go to answer the door, mug in hand and a vanilla biscuit sticking from my mouth. There, darkening my door is none other than Jack. I must be a little numb by now, cause my only reaction is a mumbled, "What do you want?" through biscuit crumbs. Jack was quiet when he asked if we could talk. I just answered, "Whatever" and didn't close the door as I returned to the kitchen. There I waited, sipping my tea. Eventually Jack said that it looked good. Rolled my eyes, but made him a cup. Jack had shown up with flowers and chocolates, which he now put on my kitchen table with a small, almost shy, smile. I didn't say anything. Why should I make things any easier? The silence hung in the air. Once he had his tea and we moved into the living room, he started to speak in that halting and bashful manner… like back when he asked me out on the date. Once he got going, he quickly built-up steam and was soon talking at something approaching the speed of light. He told me that he realized how it all must have looked (mostly because Tosh had made it painfully clear, after I'd left.) It was as if a dam had broken. Jack, in a torrent, told me how he felt about me, that he didn't want Gwen, that he'd never felt that way about her, not really, not the way he feels for me. He apologized for not making everything much clearer, much earlier. I had to wonder exactly what Tosh had said to him, to prompt such a reaction, such an out-pouring from normally tight-lipped Jack. He took a deep breath at this point and I told him, much more calmly than I felt, "It just seems that you promise everything, in private. Like I'm special, like you care about me-" Jack interrupted, 'You are! I do!' It was something between an exclamation and a plea. I continued undaunted, however, "You offer a life full of wonder and promise… then like a switch is thrown and it's over, off again. Your interest is… elsewhere, and I'm left alone. I can't do that part anymore. I won't be… convenient. I'm sorry Jack, but I can't take it any more. And I really think I've been patient. I can't, not anymore." Had I been planning on telling Jack all this when he arrived at my door? Probably not. But the very fact that he denied his attraction to Gwen had seemed rather to confirm it all. Confirm that I'd finally made the right choice.

Jack was actually pleading now, I think maybe even crying when he said, 'Ianto, don't do this. Please. I've meant everything I've said to you… and everything I should have been saying. If I've made you feel anything else… I've been stupid and hopeless and thoughtless and arrogant… thinking that I could have you, someone like you… and not say and do all those things… but I can't loose you. Not you. You are the one thing in this life that I can truly depend on, the one person, maybe ever, who has ever seen me, really me… but doesn't probe, won't judge, despite…Tell me it isn't too late… Please tell me I haven't completely fucked things up between us?' In all the time I've known Jack, even in the most stressful, Earth shattering (literally) circumstance, he doesn't swear. Now he was looking at me, I could see that there really were tears in his eyes, 'What can I do? I'll do anything. Just tell me what to do…' In the pause that followed, I said it without thinking, without feeling, without even wanting it, "Fire Gwen." Jack whispered, 'What?' Still without thinking, I countered, "You're not serious. Forget it." I moved to put my mug on the table. 'No, Ianto. Wait.' I turned to see Jack, his eyes darting, mind visibly racing. He caught my eyes, swallowed hard and whispered, 'Okay.'

I stopped dead in my tracks. I told him I didn't mean it, but Jack continued, 'I'll have Owen work up a large enough retcon dose…' his mind already working through the details. I had to grab his arms to get his attention, "Jack. You know I don't want that. I'd never ask, not really. I love Gwen. It's just…" Jack's eyes met mine, and for the first time I saw what seemed to be a true understanding, 'You think I can't make up my mind between the two of you, while she's around?' Something like that. 'That I love Gwen, and that if it weren't for Rhys…' Yes. Exactly like that. 'Ianto, I'm not.' Not what? 'I'm not in love with Gwen. Really. I'm not interested in her romantically, sexually, erotically, emotionally, or in any other way similar to the ways I feel about… you.' Now I just stood, looking blankly at him. So what about all those looks? 'What looks?' I described a few… well, it ended-up a laundry list of all the times I felt like I'd lost him to her.

Jack just laughed. I was probably still too confused and off-balance to register a properly indignant response, and Jack continued, '99% of those times I was so frustrated, aggravated, or just plain pissed-off at her, I wanted to strangle her. She's… challenging. I need that sometimes, as a leader. Gwen has a different approach, on… well, just about everything. Sometimes I'm too focused on the future, she makes me see the present, the human side to the mission. That conflict might come across as passion, but as I said, 99% just furious.' I looked for a sign in his eyes that this was a cover, that it was something else… seeing nothing that led me to think this wasn't at least what he believed; I asked what about the other 1%? Jack grinned, 'Well, c'mon… she is kinda cute… that gap in the teeth and all…' I glared. Jack grinned. I frowned. Jack broke first, 'You're cuter.' I surrendered and smiled too. Jack ventured, 'So…' a hint of that boyish smile, 'Do I get another chance?'

I couldn't help but laugh, just a little. Jack looked like a drowning man who's just spotted the last life preserver. But I needed time to think, "Maybe. I… don't know." Jack's expression flickered, like maybe that last life preserver was now being chewed upon by a rather large shark. Jack waited in the living room as I went to make us some more tea. The CD player in the kitchen had been playing all this time, largely ignored. Couldn't help but sing along now, quietly… it's Keith Urban (_Go if you wanna go. Stay if you wanna stay. My heart's not a game you can play with, and put away.)_ I moved about the kitchen and wiped down the counter. (_Baby tryin' to figure you out, could make a man go insane.) _It's getting late, so this time I reach for the tin of decaf. (_I never want to be the one, who kept you from being free.)_ The kettle's just starting to steam. (_I gotta know what you want, because I've taken all I can take.) _Warm the teapot. Where did I leave that packet of biscuits? (_Every time you decide, to spread your wings and fly, You make the same mistake, and I can't take any more goodbyes.) _Add the tea and pour the water. (_I don't want to feel alone, whenever you go away. So just go if you wanna go. Stay if you wanna stay.)_ As the tea was steeping, I heard a sound behind me as the CD player suddenly skipped a few songs and started again. (_Rollercoaster_? Really?) Apparently not the right track after all, as Jack muttered softly under his breath and hit the skip button once again.

Slightly embarrassed that Jack had caught me singing, I decidedly hadn't turned around. A new song started, apparently the right one this time. I felt Jack move closer, felt his breath on my neck as he sang along (_I thought you knew. I guess I assumed too much. I don't know how, but now we're so far out of touch. And I, never planned, to so misunderstand.) _Jack placed his hands on my shoulders, (_But what you needed, you never asked me to give. And I swear as I live, I thought you knew, my heart was yours, and that we were so together, and that we would always be. I don't believe, that you leaving me's the answer.) _He wrapped his arms around me and held me from behind. Knowing I should resist, pull away and give myself time to think, I relaxed into his embrace instead (_I'm not asking you, to let me rush back in, and fail again. I'm asking for one chance, not to assume.) _Jack turned me to face him and when our eyes met, (_So I can say and do, all the things, I thought you knew.)_

Maybe I'm too trusting, or maybe it was the look deep in his eyes, but I can't help it. Maybe I'm hopeless, maybe I'm weak, and maybe I'll regret it, but I've come to realize I can't resist it. I don't want to resist it. I want to at least try, because I so want it to work. I so want Jack. So there we were… third time's the charm? Maybe. God, I hope so. Because I'm giving Jack one last chance- Seriously. Last chance. His reply? Typical Jack, 'Really? I don't even have to beg? I was prepared to beg. Down on my knees and everything.' I told him no, he'd still have to beg, but for other things. And he will, down on his knees and everything.

I fully expected Jack to spend the night, anticipated that he'd expect us to 'make-up.' So a little while later, when he kissed me and said it was late and he should get going, I was a bit surprised. It obviously showed. Jack just smiled that shy smile and said, 'You know I always want to be with you. Always. But I figured you need to see that isn't _all_ I want from you… or need.' I fixed him with an icy glare. What about what I want? What I need? I told Jack to shut-up, took him by the braces, and led him to the bedroom. My bedroom.

* * *

I woke-up to find myself alone in my bed. Before I even had sufficient chance to over-think that, I realized that Jack hadn't left me on my own. He was, in fact buried in my wardrobe, going through my things again. I guess he'd realized I was awake and watching him, because without pulling his head from the depths, he was suddenly holding out my _Ghost Hunters_ crew jacket and asking, 'So, what's this?' It's a WWII bomber plane, what does it look like? Jack pulled himself out of my wardrobe and sat on the end of my bed with the jacket, 'So, is there a vest and trousers to go with this? Not quite like the rest of your suits.' Did he want to hear about it, or not? Yes, he did. So I told him. At the end, after sitting through my entire story perched on the end of my bed like a child at story-time, Jack just laughed. He thought I was kidding and said I should just admit I'd bought the thing on-line. When I denied that, he said I should, 'prove it.' Jack then went on to tell me, 'Ya know, Ianto, little boys who tell fibs get spanked.' I replied, "No Jack, that's what little boys who go through other people's wardrobes get." With that, I went to take my shower. I don't feel the need to prove anything.

By the time I was done with my shower, Jack had obviously made himself quite at home. I came out, dressed for work, to ask him what he wanted for breakfast. Jack was sprawled across my bed with several of my things in front of him. Centrally located and obviously next for examination, the Quality Street tin. I froze. More so, it seemed like the world around me froze. Should I grab it from him? (No, that'd only raise more questions.) Pretend to faint? (No, too Jane Austin.) Grab Jack and distract him… physically? (No, well, maybe. We'll call that Plan B.) I could think of an excuse, think of a lie… Okay, maybe not. I braced for the worst as Jack opened the box and peered inside. I waited, horrorstruck, as he leafed through the slips of paper, one-by-one. He held one up, turned it upside down and squinted at it before finally asking, 'What's that name?' Confused, I answered: Caradoc. 'Welsh?' Yes. 'Guy or girl?' Guy. 'Ah.' Jack continued digging to the bottom before closing the box and looking at me, 'So… You've slept with all these people?' He asked it with such earnestness, but in a way I had no clue as to the emotion behind the question. Or if, indeed, he was even serious. There had to be a couple of hundred names on slips of paper, business cards and pub serviettes. Did he really think? He must have, because next he asked, 'Still keep in touch with any of them?' Did I detect that tinge of jealousy? I finally willed my brain to work enough to ask if he was kidding. He didn't answer, so I told him they were given to me in pubs, parks, airports, concerts and the like. (Quite a few while I manned the desk of the Tourist Information office, in fact.) Just didn't seem polite to throw them away. Jack squinted at me. Assessing, 'Never called any of them? Not even once? How far do these go back?' Since I moved back to Cardiff. Jack's jaw actually dropped. He rattled the box, 'All these… in two and a half years?' (I didn't really lie when I said yes, because it had been within that time period, just actually less. I didn't want to bring up that it was only since Lisa had… that I hadn't accepted any phone numbers while she was still in the basement.) It was hard to read the grin that spread across Jack's face. If I didn't know better, I'd almost say it was a look of pride.

After Jack and I had breakfast, we rode in to work together. It was a quiet hour and a half before I saw Owen and Tosh's cars pull into the lot on CCTV. They walked in together, arguing about something or the other and it took a moment for either of them to notice me at my station. When Owen did see me I smiled a good morning, but he immediately turned back to Tosh and hissed her name. When she looked at him, he nodded his head in my direction. As soon as Tosh focused on me she spun to look into Jack's office (empty, as he was doing the rounds of the vaults that he did every morning after spending the night away.) Tosh was over at my desk in a flash. I told her that the coffee wouldn't be but a minute. 'Forget the coffee-' Tosh started. Owen interrupted with, 'Oi! Hold on. Coffee first, then ask.' Tosh told me to ignore Owen and asked, 'So? What happened? Did he get down on his knees? Did he beg? I told him he should beg.' Owen had moved to stand behind Tosh, 'Yeah, and I told him to buy you a new car. Nothing says sorry for being such an insensitive twat, like buying a car.' After a glare from Tosh, he added, 'Yeah, yeah, and I should know all about being an insensitive twat. So what happened?' I never needed to answer as Jack entered the Hub right then. Without a moment's hesitation, he sauntered up to where I was pouring the coffee. He took the mug I offered him and took a sip, 'Hmmmm, that's better. And it's about time, too.' Jack put his arm around my waist, kissed me on the cheek, and headed to his office with a call back over his shoulder of, 'And good morning team. C'mon, work to do. World won't save itself.' I've never seen Tosh so giddy, and Owen actually grinned before wandering off. Tosh made me promise to give her details later.

When I went to see Jack in his office, he looked up from the U.N.I.T. report on his desk with a frown, then he smiled, 'Distract me?' So I went to sit on the edge of his desk. Jack leaned back, swung his legs to capture mine and just grinned at me, 'So they know.' Yep. 'And they don't mind?' Jack and I glanced out through the window at Tosh, hard at work. Sensing that she was being watched, she turned to look at us. She grinned and gave us two thumbs-up before returning to work. Apparently, no, they didn't mind. Jack told me that last night, after I'd… disappeared, he'd asked the others if they knew where I was. Tosh had torn into him with 'the furry of a Racnoss with a migraine' (I'm assuming that's fierce.) Jack said that she'd yelled at him, telling him in no uncertain terms that he'd been a complete arse and that if he didn't do something, and fast, I'd be lost to him forever. Have I mentioned how much I love Tosh? (Note to self: buy Tosh a really nice thank you gift… like a new house.) So the flowers had been at Tosh's insistence? And the chocolates? 'Well, those were Owen… who also suggested that after the way I'd acted, I probably should buy you something bigger, a car or something… Do you want a new car?' I never got a chance to reply as the proximity alert sounded and the cog door rolled back to reveal Gwen. Jack had stood and taken a step towards the door to his office, 'Give me a minute, okay?' Jack. 'Ianto. I just need to talk to her, really. Won't be long.' He stroked a finger down my cheek, 'Really.'

Jack entered the Hub with a cheery, 'Morning Gwen. Can I have a minute?' He then proceeded to escort her down towards the conference room. Really don't know what I was thinking as I walked into the Hub a moment later. It was clear what Tosh and Owen thought as they were suddenly at my side. Tosh had a hold of my arm, as if she thought letting go I might disappear, or collapse. Owen was grumbling choice Owen phrases, before finally asking me outright if I wanted him to, 'Shoot fucking Jack fucking Harkness stone-cold fucking dead?' No, but thanks for asking. Five minutes, quite a few guesses as to what was going on, and several more offers of murder later, Gwen and Jack reemerged from the corridors. Gwen, a beaming smile on her face, just waved and said, 'Bye everyone!' and hurried out the door and up the stairs. She didn't even wait for the lift. Gwen always waits for the lift. By this time Jack had made his way back over to where we were standing, visibly noting the way Tosh had hold of my arm (which was now almost numb due to restricted blood flow.) 'You plan on letting go of my archivist there, Toshiko? I have work for him to do.' Jack unlatched Tosh's grip and smoothed the creases from my jacket sleeve, before trailing his hand down my arm and taking my hand. 'By the way, I've sent Gwen on a bit of a vacation. She and Rhys'll be in Paris for the next week. Nice break.' (Jack never did specify if the break was for her, or for us.) In any case, Owen clapped me on the back before wandering back towards autopsy with a grumbled, 'Never sends me to Paris. Not that I'd want Paris.' Tosh followed him, still smiling with a, 'Well, at least now you won't have to kill Jack again.' 'Yeah. Whatever. Paris?'

Jack asked me what all that had been about, especially the whole 'killing Jack' thing. Told him it was nothing, just teammates showing support. He led me back to his desk, physically positioning me as we'd been before the interruption, 'Now then, where were we?' Jack and I talked some more about… things. Jack was still upset at Gwen for not following orders, endangering everything, the mission, because of Rhys. Worse yet, he pointed out, her actions had endangered me. At that point, his voice dropped to barely a whisper, 'And that's one thing I'll never put-up with.' Jack said that Gwen does bring something unique to the team, but that so do I. And it's my class of unique that he wants _intimate _knowledge of. He went on to say that I should realize that Gwen's just a bit… high maintenance. I told him that's fine, but he has to realize that I'm not exactly maintenance-free, myself. He laughed and promised to keep that in mind. He put on that pseudo-serious look as he stood up. His feet braced on either side of mine, he leant forward. His hands flat on the desk on either side of me, he leant even further forward. I had to lean back slightly, just to keep his face in focus, close as he was. He asked me to come and talk to him any time I was feeling neglected, or secondary, or unimportant. (If I did that every time, I'd never leave his office.) He made me promise I'd talk with him before I assumed I knew what he was thinking or feeling, and especially before making any decisions based on those assumptions. I told him that was a good plan, as long as he was willing to talk to me as well. Jack pledged that he would. When I told Jack I'd never said anything, about feeling rejected, because I didn't think he'd want the drama, he gave me that look and told me that I'm worth the drama. He said I'd, 'Be worth a whole soap opera.' Jack's made me promise that anytime I feel that he's paying undue attention to anyone, Gwen included, I'm to hit him. Literally. So there we stood, now in silence, with me rather pinned to Jack's desk. He was probably waiting for me to break first, but little did he realize, I could stay like that all day. Jack finally gave in and moved the final few inches to kiss me.

After that, the rest of the morning has been taken-up largely with mundane procedural rubbish. Jack had a conference call scheduled with U.N.I.T. so I left him to it. Spent a half hour resorting the recycle bins, moved on to further researching royal blood lines (literally) and then sorted and re-filed the archived team reports from 1973 to 1976 (whose brilliant idea was it to file them by how exciting the mission was, rather than chronologically?)

Tried to run-down a weevil on foot tonight. Ended-up instead doubled-over coughing. Apparently, my pneumonia is subject to relapse. Would have been nice for someone to have mentioned that, somewhere along the way. In any case, Owen says I'm okay, just some temporarily diminished lung capacity. Now Jack's over with Owen talking about keeping me confined to the Hub again for a while. What, just for tonight? What's that look? And why is Owen rolling his eyes? Did Owen's warning against strenuous activity just make Jack pout?

* * *

Yep, Jack kept me confined last night, but not to the Hub. I didn't know that a medical warning against physical exertion coupled with shallow breathing could be turned to such advantage. Leave it to Jack to figure a way. That was… unique.

This morning Tosh asked me how long Jack and I have been '…you know.' I stammered out something that almost resembled English. She blushed and looked away, explaining that she'd just been thinking of all those stories Jack had been telling lately… of his exploits… She looked at me, 'Those were you, weren't they? All of them?' I didn't just blush, I spontaneously burst into flame. Seriously, why can't the Rift just consume me?

Asked Jack about the abattoir. He just looked at me blankly. The processing plant for the alien meat… Caerwen Abattoir? Where the meat was going in the lorry… That dawning look of realization. 'Good thinking, Ianto. Level five retcon, and take Owen with you.' Brilliant.

Owen and I are on the way back from the abattoir. On the way there, we argued about whom, and how much, to retcon. Owen was right, that full doses for everyone would be quick and easy. Still, I didn't like the idea. There would be those who had no idea what was going on with the alien meat. What sorts of memories would we be stealing from innocent people? Weddings, their kid's birthday, first dates, break-ups, make-ups? Six months was too much to take from people who didn't deserve it at all. Owen eventually settled into the argument that Jack had ordered level five, period. I told him to let me deal with Jack. At that, Owen had frowned at me, then just shrugged. Brilliant, now that I've gotten my way, now I get to go and tell Jack that I disobeyed his orders.

In a wonderful delaying tactic, we stopped for lunch on the way back. Somehow all I was in a mood for was salad. Owen agreed. Also got take-away for Jack and Tosh (strange, not ordering for Gwen as well.) So at least Jack will probably have his mouth jammed full of food when he screams at me for disobeying him and altering the mission.

Sure enough, Jack's mouth was packed when I told him. I waited while he swallowed. Waited for the worst. When he'd finally swallowed enough of his mouthful to speak, he said, 'Good.' What, your lunch? 'Well, yeah.' Jack swallowed the rest, 'That too. But no, your change of plans.' I told him I was worried he might be angry. 'Why? You were right. Only a few of the employees knew about the shipments, and as you found out, they didn't have a clue that it was alien. So no point in over-doing the retcon. Good thinking. Have you tried this?' Jack offered me a bite. As I chewed I thought about it, I really had believed that he was going to be cross with me. After swallowing, I agreed that it did taste quite good, especially considering it was warmed-up. Jack continued, 'Why did you think I'd be annoyed? You did the right thing, for the right reasons. Like you always do, well, usually do… Well you always have the right reasons at least... This is sounding less complementary than I intended. I really should stop… Sometimes I just don't know when to stop.' Jack took a deep breath, 'You have a strong sense of right and wrong. Trust yourself to do the right thing, Ianto. I do.'


	38. Tighter

This afternoon was mostly in the Archives, just me, my Mp3 player and the Unlabelled Artifacts: Classes C and D. There's a lot there, but not much of any interest. Reckon that's why they all ended up in the catch-all bin in the first place. Just not interesting enough to be bothered with. Sad really. I've known that feeling before. Before, but not now. Anyway, I'd been down there long enough to be thoroughly bored and ready for a change when I heard a scuffling sound behind me; by now, a very familiar scuffling. I replaced the box I'd just finished cataloging, "Hello, Jgem'a. It's been a while. Everything all right?" In the silence behind me, I could sense the roll of her little blue space hamster eyes. As I turned from what I was doing to face her, she actually stood with paws on hips, tapping her foot, waiting. I told her that yes, I know I need to see her for her to communicate. But really, patience can be a positive trait. She just looked at me… and continued to just look at me. "Sorry." At that she grinned and climbed the shelving to a level where we could see each other clearly. (Should also remark, that hamster can move, fast.) She asked how things were going and I could honestly answer, "Well. Really well."

Jgem'a and I had been chatting for a while, when I started to get the idea that there was something she wanted to say, but wasn't saying. I paused, hoping that the gap would give her the opportunity. It did, 'There's something I need to tell you. You're in danger, and you don't even know it. Ianto, you have to destroy it.' What? Something here in the Class Cs? She seemed to hear a sound in the corridor and tensed, listening. Then I heard the noise just outside the door as well. 'Destroy the artifact, Ianto. Destroy the Foremost before it destroys you.' And with that, Jgem'a was gone in a quick blue flash. I really didn't have time to register her warning before a grating voice and its equally grating owner stood in the doorway, 'Oi, Teaboy. You don't have your comms on _again_. Fuckin' annoying that your boyfriend up there is boss, 'cause he sent me to tell you he needs coffee.' As I silently agreed, yes it is annoying that he sent you, I answered, "I'm coming." and prayed that he just wouldn't say anything else. And as we walked up to the Hub, I wondered just what the _Foremost_ was, and how it would try to destroy me.

Lattes all around. A latte always makes Jack happy, and making Jack happy always makes me happy. While waiting for the machine to come to pressure, researched the name '_Foremost.'_ Torchwood doesn't have any records. Nothing to indicate it's anything other than a normal, everyday adjective. Asked Jack as well. He didn't have any ideas, either. He did think it was funny that I was concerned about, 'a warning from a rodent.' Didn't like Jack calling her that, and I let him know it. It wasn't the most sincere Jack has ever been, but he did apologize. So until I can talk to Jgem'a again, I guess I'll just have to be careful.

Figured out that thank you gift for Tosh. I've managed to upgrade those concert tickets she wanted to VIP, full access. Still wondering who she's planning on taking, though. Could she actually have asked Owen out? She hasn't said anything to me about it. I think maybe that knowing for sure about Jack and me gives Tosh renewed hope that one day she and Owen will find something. Together.

Tosh has a way of looking at a problem and seeing solutions where others simply couldn't. This applies equally to horrific alien threats as it does to the most puzzling scientific mysteries. It does not, unfortunately, extend to her personal life. Still no progress in her attempts to attract Owen into more than a professional acquaintanceship. She told me today that she's been trying harder lately, had I noticed anything? Had Owen said anything? I couldn't really think of anything supportive that wouldn't be an outright lie, so I just told her that Owen really didn't say much to me, about anything. She frowned a bit. Sad Toshiko, something I've never liked seeing. But, it gave me an idea.

Talked to Jack and he agreed that it might just be time for a P.I.N.T. (Pub Incursion Night for Torchwood.) I pitched it to him as a team-building exercise. But let's face it, Jack loves an acronym. In fact, I'm pretty sure I could convince him to do just about anything if I could come up with a good enough acronym for it. (Hmmm, Note to self: devise something for: take Ianto on a romantic weekend getaway without mobiles or Rift alerts… TIOARWGWMORA… Well, it sounds Welsh at least. Maybe I could convince Jack.) Anyway, back to the plan for a P.I.N.T. As I see it, with just the four of us right now… if we went out as a group… and Jack and I have one side of a booth… that leaves Owen and Tosh together by default. Team-building social event doubles as double-date. And if Tosh still can't manage to catch Owen, he never need know an attempt was even made. (And if she makes an attempt that fails, he'll probably be too hung-over in the morning to remember anyway.) Sounds like a plan. So does this make me a relationship counselor, or the dating fairy?

* * *

Let me just state for the record, I did not have that much to drink last night. I woke-up this morning, in my bed with Jack asleep next to me. Okay, nothing too unusual waking up that way, except that Jack was still fully dressed… and the fact that I have no idea why I can't remember anything. Jack swears he didn't retcon me, but won't say what did happen either. All he'd say before leaving was not to worry, that everything was fine, and that he'd meet me at work. Just how worried should I be?

Parts of it are starting to come back, but fuzzy. I remember Owen choosing the Pub, near his flat, so he would be able to walk (stagger) home if need be. I remember Jack appointing himself designated driver, as he said, 'Because I know how the two of you can get when you go drinking… Ianto and Owen, I'm talking to you here. Ended up living together last time, I understand.' (That's not fair, that only happened once.) Anyway, I remember walking to the pub from the car. Tosh was starting early, taking Owen by the arm under the pretense of slowing his walk, to give Jack and me some space. I remember sitting at a booth, Jack squashed up against me (rather closer than was strictly required, given the size of the seat.) Across from us, Owen and Tosh sat quite far apart. I remember the discussion on who would buy the first round. Owen shouted, 'Alphabetical!' I remember sighing and getting up, only to be pulled back down by Jack who smirked and added, 'By last name.' Owen grunted, then thought a moment before agreeing. Nobody moved. I nudged Jack. He must have thought I was just getting friendly, 'cause he just rubbed my leg under the table. I had whispered in his ear, "Captain _Hark_ness." He smiled and whispered, 'Yes, IantoJones?' Then there was a pause, a quick mental run-through of the alphabet and then, 'It's me, isn't it?' Ah, the astounding mental prowess of our esteemed leader. Well, to be fair, it had been a tiring day… I remember Jack getting up to go for the drinks. I remember him stopping to ask what Tosh and Owen each wanted before heading to the bar. I also remember that the fact that Jack didn't need to ask me what I wanted did not go unnoticed by my team-mates. Tosh should smile like that more often. There's no way Owen could continue to not notice her if she did. Speaking of smiling, I've noticed that Jack seems to spend quite a good deal of time trying to make me smile lately. Somehow, when we're alone together, it seems that's all I want to do.

So okay, I remember Owen buying the next round, I remember everyone joking, everyone laughing. Something Jack said, asking if Tosh would change places with him for a while, caused everyone to stop and stare at him (not least of all, Owen.) Noticing he had everyone's attention, Jack continued, 'Sorry, but I can't help notice the view from where you're sitting…' At this everyone turned and looked pointedly across the table from Tosh… at me. I blushed, Tosh laughed, Owen threatened to be sick, and Jack squeezed my leg again. I remember everyone was getting to the bottom of their glasses, so I stood and asked, "Same again?" Apparently yes. I went to the bar and placed the order. As I waited, I glanced around. Very noisy and very crowded for a Tuesday night. At the far end of the bar I spotted a familiar face. It was the guy from karaoke a while back. The guy who sang to me and was beaten rather harshly by Jack for it. I debated heading over for just a moment before he noticed me and waved. It was going to be a few minutes before the drinks were ready, so I proceeded over to where he was standing. I said hello and apologized for what had happened before. He said it wasn't my fault, that he shouldn't have done that in front of my boyfriend and all, but he just couldn't resist. He went on to say, 'No hard feelings, really. Can I buy you a drink? Brains S.A. right?' I have to admit at first I found it a little creepy that he'd remember what I was drinking that night, weeks ago. Then I thought he'd probably just heard me order, or seen me drinking it earlier. In any case, I told him no, thanks. That I was still with Jack and while I appreciated it, I didn't think it was a good idea. The bartender had placed the tray of drinks on the bar in front of me and as I stood to pay for them, the guy got there first, with an, 'I insist.' I told him again no, thank you, and handed the cash past him to the bartender, who looked between us, uncertain what to do. Finally the bartender took my money. I told him to have one for himself and took the tray.

I remember that when I got back to the table Tosh was sliding closer to Owen. While he wasn't drunk, he didn't seem to mind (point to Tosh.) More banter and more joking, the mood was definitely light. Even since the banning of smoking, a pub still takes on a definite atmosphere as an evening progresses. Eventually the press of the crowd and my own stamina got the better of me and I remember feeling just a little light headed, a little nauseous. I remember heading for the loo. And that's the last thing I can remember 'til I woke-up in bed with a fully clothed Jack at my side.

Got in to work and neither Jack nor Owen would talk about it. Neither of them would say a word about what happened after I went to the loo. When we were alone in the Hub later, Tosh told me. Tosh told me everything. They had been at the table and Jack had started to get worried when I didn't come back right away. After a few more minutes, Jack went looking for me. Apparently they all went looking for me. At that point, bless, Tosh wanted to make it very clear that she waited outside while Jack and Owen checked all the stalls. When they found I wasn't there, Owen noticed a fire exit behind the payphone and cashpoint machine. Apparently Jack's initial assessment of karaoke guy as a 'slimy evil bastard' had been accurate. When they found me in the back alley, Tosh said, two of the guy's friends had me pinned down over a rubbish bin, while he was getting ready to… well… Tosh said the guy was just saying, 'No, you don't understand, _I insist_.' Anyway… Jack is, and will always remain, my hero.

Apparently Owen had to physically pull Jack off the three of them in the end, telling him that I needed to be taken care of. They brought me home and after an examination I'm sure I'm glad I can't recall, Owen determined that they'd arrived in time to stop me being… violated. The way Tosh told me of this, I can only imagine the phrasing Owen actually used. Okay, it would appear a blood test indicated the presence of GHB. I have to assume he slipped it in my beer as we argued over who was paying. I've seen the stories, of university parties, girls with unattended drinks. But I was careful. What could I have done better, smarter? I feel so stupid. The logical part of my brain tells me this isn't my fault, what almost happened. But another part of me… I can't help but feel ashamed.

Lots of work today. I've managed to keep myself distracted, not thinking about last night, until now. I came to realize that part of me wishes Jack and Owen and Tosh hadn't been there. Not that I wanted to be raped. I just wish they didn't know about it, hadn't been there, hadn't seen… Jack knows I'm not really strong. And that's okay because I know he's strong enough for both of us. And as for the humiliation, even if he hadn't been there, I would have eventually told him about it… probably. Tosh, she's sweet. She feels for me, probably wonders why I didn't fight back, she would have fought back. She's strong too, but in a different way. But still… What it really comes down to is why Owen? Why did Owen have to be there? Why did he have to come out and see, see how pathetic and worthless and week and hopeless I was? Every time he looks at me from now on, I'm going to know exactly what he's thinking… Worthless Teaboy, should have let them have him.

Jack tried to cook dinner for the two of us tonight. It was a gesture on his part. And while I appreciate it, I've tasted his cooking before... As such, it was safer that I took over. He did help, really. Just having him there helped. At dinner neither of us had much to say. Sitting on the couch together after didn't seem to elicit much conversation either. It wasn't uncomfortable, just quiet. Jack simply put his arm around my shoulders and held me to him, tight. After a while I felt him shiver. When I asked him if he was cold, if he wanted a blanket, he didn't answer. When I turned and looked at him, Jack was crying. 'Can you forgive me, Ianto? I didn't protect you… For what almost happened…' I couldn't really grasp it, how could Jack blame himself? I was the one who didn't watch their drink closely enough, the one who'd been stupid, amateurish, careless. Jack continued, 'Then, then I couldn't leave you. Couldn't… Owen…' Owen what? My mind raced, but couldn't complete that thought. Owen what? 'Owen took care of things. Did what I should have…' What things? Jack? 'I should have, but Owen did.' Give me a complete sentence Jack, what did Owen do? Jack just shook his head.

I made a pot of tea and let Jack gather his thoughts and rein in his emotions. All the while I worried just what he was trying to tell me. What had Owen done? Something to me? I've always known that Owen didn't like me and would be glad if I were no longer around, but I couldn't imagine what it was he could have done that had Jack so out of sorts. Two cups of tea and several biscuits later, eventually Jack told me everything. Apparently, once they'd gotten me home, Owen had performed the physical exam and assessed that I had not been… injured. When he did the blood test, Jack said Owen scanned the results and uttered the most violently obscene string of expletives he'd ever heard, and left. It wasn't until the end of the day today that Jack had even found out where, exactly, Owen had gone. Owen had stormed out of my flat and back to the Hub. There he used the CCTV networks to track them down, the three who had attacked me. I always thought that as a doctor, Owen had sworn to do no harm. After he found them he did quite a bit of harm. In fact, he put all three in hospital. I don't understand. Owen can't stand me, why would he do that? When I told Jack that I didn't understand, he just smiled and held me even tighter.

* * *

I think it was the nightmare, with the three weevils again. At least that's how it started. Somewhere in the middle it changed, and I wasn't the one doing the hunting. I woke-up screaming in Jack's arms. I wish I could say that the feel of his arms comforted me. Well, it did, but only eventually. At first, however, it felt like arms pinning me against a rubbish skip. I think I hit Jack. I think I hit him a lot. Once I woke-up, calmed down, and realized where I was, he just held me tight. Never did get back to sleep last night, but I didn't mind. Jack and I spent the rest of the night in each other's arms, just listening to each other breathe. Something about the way he held me made me think that he'd never let me go. Well, he did physically let me go, as he's currently in the kitchen, fixing us some tea. But still, there was something about this whole thing that makes me feel so… Well, I haven't quite worked that out yet. It isn't all so bad. Given what happened, what almost happened… As long as I'm not alone, as long as I have Jack here with me… it isn't so bad.

Jack brought the tea and I realized that yes, I had hit him. He looked at my expression with a, 'What?' Then turned and looked at himself in the mirror. He grinned, 'Ouch. Good thing I heal fast. That's a bit more visible than your usual love-bites.' He handed me a mug and I apologized. I touched a bruise on his jaw, already a deep purple-black. Jack and I winced at the same time. Jack took my hand and held it against the mark on his face, 'You fight like a tiger, remind me never to get on your bad side.' I Looked away from Jack and said that I should have been that aggressive, back in that alley. He paused, 'You don't think you fought back?' I didn't answer. We both knew the answer. Jack, however, seemed to have a different opinion, 'Ianto, look at me. Look at me.' Jack wasn't loud, but something in his voice made me obey. 'Ianto, you had three beers a full dose Rohypnol in you… Look at me. When I pulled him off you he was bleeding, and so were both his friends… bleeding a lot. You fought hard, Ianto. None of us could have done any better.' There's always a look, a shadow, deep in his eyes when Jack is saying something simply to make me feel better. The shadow wasn't there.

By the time we had eaten breakfast and I could admit that I was feeling slightly better about everything, Jack's bruises had already started to fade. I was in the shower, head submerged in the spray, when I heard the door open. Jack sneaked in and snuggled against my back. Then, at the top of his lungs screamed, 'Bloody Hell! That's HOT!' I thought that was the idea of a nice _hot_ shower. 'Not this hot! This is enough to cook you. And while you're always good enough to eat, I prefer my Ianto raw… Ianto sushi… Ianto tar tare.' It wasn't really that hot, but I let him turn it down a bit. Jack resumed his snuggling position, 'Thanks. Guess I'd just gotten used to a lot of cold showers…' I turned to face him. Hmmm, think you can get used to _hot_ again? Jack grabbed the soap from me, started lathering it in his hands with that endearingly lecherous glint in his eye, 'I'm thinking yeah.'


	39. Only

Absolutely loving the fact that we rode in to work today, together. That neither of us felt the need to enter the Hub separately or pretend in any way that we hadn't been together. Of course it really doesn't matter as it'll be another hour before anyone else is even due…

Found what could be either a small alien cadaver or the moldy remains of a sandwich. In either case, it's green and fuzzy. If it's a dead alien, looks like it put up a hell of a fight. If, on the other hand, it used to be a sandwich… then it appears to have been cheese and pickle. It couldn't have been Owen's. He hates cheese and pickle almost as much as he hates sugar in his coffee. He's the only one, however, I can think would hide a sandwich behind the sofa.

I absolutely love the way Jack says aluminum. That accent of his… 'Al-oom-in-um.' The fight with Owen over the proper use of the recycle bins is all worth it, just to have the cans bin. Just to hear Jack say that word.

At my station this afternoon and was wondering if anyone was in the mood for espresso. I looked around and tried to catch Owen's eye to ask him. He finally looked up with sneer and a, 'What are you looking at, Teaboy?' Really think Jack has it wrong. Owen just doesn't like me, and it's doubtful he ever will. Anyway, asked him about the espresso and he replied, 'Yeah, why not. If it'll give you something constructive to do around here.' Really don't know what Jack was thinking. Owen can't stand me.

I've noticed lately that Jack has taken to stealing kisses. (Not that I'm complaining.) He waits until I'm working on something, intent on whatever it is, then he sneaks up behind and strikes. Recently, they've been quick little kisses on the cheek or neck. Often he does it in passing, without hardly slowing his pace as he walks by. Other times, however… like today, when he almost gave me a coronary. I'd just finished feeding Myfanwy when suddenly I felt myself grabbed by the shoulders and spun around. My "AHH!" of surprise metamorphosed to an "Ahhhhhhhhh" as those familiar lips found mine. As I said, not complaining.

Jack and I were just headed for his office for the files he promised to finish when he stopped so suddenly I actually ran into his backside. 'What the HELL do you think you're doing?!?' Jack growled (and I really mean _growled_.) Told him sorry, it's just he'd stopped so suddenly… Oh. Not me. Jack was glaring at Owen, who was stood behind Jack's desk, elbows deep in the top drawer. When Owen got defensive and said, 'What's the problem? Ianto's always in your drawers… in your desk.' Jack stalked over, slammed the drawer (almost with Owen's hands still inside) and snarled, 'You're not Ianto.' I didn't know what to do or say as I waited in the doorway. Jack actually pulled Owen from behind the desk by his shirt collar, and shoved him out the door, past me. 'If I ever catch you going through my personal things again… there's an open vault next to Janet. Understood?' Owen has said nothing, but he's only glared or snarled at me ever since.

Okay, okay, okay. Don't panic. Yeah, '_Don't panic_.' That's easy for Douglas Adams to write; not so easy to put into practice when something like this has happened. Okay then, forget not panicking, lets just go with 'Try to stay calm' for now. Stay positive. List assets… (Well, that shouldn't take too long.) Okay, anyway, assets: #1) I'm alive. I reckon that as far as assets go, that one's reasonably important. Okay. What else can go in the plus column? Hmmm… Alright, we can come back to that. What goes in the negative column? Let's see… #1) I have no idea what happened. 2) I have no idea where I am. 3) There's a fair chance no one else knows I'm even missing. 4) I've nothing in the way of supplies. 5) All I feel capable of, at this very moment, is to sit down and have a really good cry…

So, back to staying calm, (or at least trying to.) Analyze the situation. What exactly happened? Okay, there I was in the vaults having just fed Janet. There was a sound, like Myfanwy when she's begging for a treat… but not quite. It seemed to be coming from the cell just next to Janet, but there was nothing there. Noticed that the door was unlocked and ajar. This being against protocol and all, I moved to close the cell door. There was a shimmer in the air, like light on Cardiff Bay at sunset. Then I was dizzy (rollercoaster dizzy) and just a little nauseous (rollercoaster nauseous.) That feeling had not quite passed, when all of a sudden, it was as if the world had just been picked-up and pulled out from beneath my feet. Darkness and light. Unable to see a thing. Falling and floating. A horrifying, terror-filled scream that I finally realized was me. Then nothing.

I guess at some point I blacked-out, 'cause I really don't know how I ended-up here. Just woke-up, here, flat on my back. Wherever here is. One thing's for certain, here has lots of sand. And sun. Lots of sand and lots of sun. But somehow, don't think I've been transported to Spain. The air is different. No pollution, far as I can tell. But it's as if the mix isn't quite right. Not enough oxygen… or too much. Funny how it's hard to tell. Only one sun in the sky (guess that's something for the plus column.) The vegetation is unusual. Not much in the way of trees. This is useless. I have no idea where I am.

Well, it doesn't appear to be a simple time shift, like I'd first hoped. Couldn't be that lucky. Nope, if they've noticed I'm missing yet, I'm guessing Tosh's computer will have recorded a negative Rift spike. But she doesn't know about negative Rift spikes now, does she? Doesn't know to look for them. Only Jack and I know. And if Jack doesn't make the connection… they aren't going to find me. The Rift's taken me, like it took Jonah and Alice and Caroline, and all the others at Flat Holm… and all the others who are still lost. Wonder if the Rift'll eventually take what's left of me back home, or will it just leave me here, like its left so many countless others… Okay. Okay, shelter, food, a fire. Lots to do before it gets dark. I'm never going to see him again, am I?

I've marked the location where I arrived with a big stone cross and have found a large cave not too far away. It's empty and dry and has proper ventilation… So, if I can ever get this fire started, shouldn't be getting too smoky inside. Heard something in the trees, something rustling. Animals maybe. If they're not too big, I might just be able to catch myself some dinner. If they are too big, well then I'll just have to try to avoid becoming dinner, won't I? Sun's going down now, best be getting back to work on that fire.

It's dark now. Completely black, in fact. I'm on a kind of hill, a rise, so I can see out over the valley. There aren't any lights. No lights of any kind. No signs of fires or anything. No civilization. I think I'm alone.

* * *

Okay. Apparently not completely alone, but now wishing I was. The sounds in the darkness last night… there are things out there, big hungry things. The fire seems to be keeping them away for now. Suppose the first order of business this morning will be to fashion some kind of weapon. Maybe several kinds of weapons.

Still haven't seen what made all the noise last night, but on the way to find water I came across the body, the remains of something that did see it. I reckon the thing must be large, and probably rather… toothy. I can't even make out what its prey looked like… before. Really am trying to remain positive, but this place is making that harder all the time. I really miss Jack.

Found what appears to be a kind of potato plant. Really hope they aren't poisonous. Something had dug some up already, and as I didn't see any more bodies, I'm going to assume that the potato thingies are edible. I have a couple baking in the fire right now. Never did like camping.

* * *

It's been three days since I last wrote. It's not that I've been too busy, or pre-occupied, or that I haven't had anything to say… it's just every time I… When I… It makes me think… Really, really trying not to cry here. Okay. Now at least I know. I won't find any people here. There aren't any. Won't be any for another, oh, 65 million years, give or take. The noises in the darkness, yep, dinosaurs. Nothing here but big, carnivorous dinosaurs… and me. Just me. Don't cry. Don't even cry. Not like there's anyone gonna see me if I did. Still, I… Jack would know what to do.

Great. Brilliant. So there you go. All of time and space and I get sucked back to Jurassic Park. Without the park. Not even a visitor's center… or the gift shop. Really miss shopping. Although I'd settle for a few of those electrified enclosure fences right now. Something between me and those things making all that noise out there in the dark. I need more firewood, but it's dark already. Too dark to go looking.

* * *

Working on fashioning a crossbow. I've managed to make a reasonably effective longbow already. It's got a fairly powerful draw-force. Results are good, but if I need to tackle any of the larger creatures out there… We're gonna need a bigger bolt.

* * *

Two and a half weeks, I reckon, since… Just since. The good news? Well, I guess its good news that I've managed to avoid being eaten, falling from a cliff or trampled by a heard of triceratops. And the bad news? Well, pretty much everything else, isn't it? There just doesn't seem to be much point anymore, to anything. I had actually started to calculate, ration how much I could write without running out of pages, running out of ink. So utterly absurd. What does it matter? 65 million years. I can't even leave a note for Jack, for the others. Nothing I could do would be permanent enough. Nothing could last through 65 million years. Bloody stupid diary. I should just throw it in the fucking fire and be done with it. But I can't do that, can I? I promised. I promised Lisa I'd write my thoughts down for her and I will. I will.

* * *

Three weeks now. Seems to be getting colder here at night. Don't know how much I should be worrying about that. There are still leaves on the tree-like plants. But I don't even know what they are, let alone if they're deciduous. Were there dinosaurs in places that got snow? If they were… are… If dinosaurs are cold-blooded, they shouldn't be able to take any freezing temperatures. Still, look on the bright side, if I do freeze to death, at least I can stop spending all my free time gathering firewood.

I am all mankind. Ianto Jones, the only human being on Earth. _King_ Ianto. _Emperor_ Ianto. Nope, not good enough. I need a new title, something befitting my status as the 'only.' Yep. There it is: _Only_ Ianto. Sadly fitting. Story of my life in so many ways. I worry that I'm already loosing it, going nutters, as it were. Hate being alone, always have. At least Tom Hanks had that bloody volleyball. And hope. He always had a chance of getting rescued. So there you have it, two things I'll never have… hope and a volleyball.

* * *

Three weeks and two days since. And I am the happiest man on the face of this planet. (And that is actually saying more than it would have been just yesterday!) So there I was, on my way down to the pond for some water, when I heard it. Like the cracking of thunder, but repeated quickly, over and over again. Then another sound. First I thought I must've been imagining it. Then when I heard it again, I realized that if I were to imagine a noise, it's unlikely it'd have been _that_ noise. I hurried to the hill, the rocky one just east of the path to the pond. As I climbed the slope and heard it yet again, this time there was no mistaking it, 'Oi, _you_ find a fuckin' _real_ weapon, cause the best I've got left is rocks!' There, in the valley below… Owen, Doctor Owen Harper, my Owen, was throwing rocks at a pack of raptors. My heart was in my throat and all I could hear was the sound of waves in a seashell. There, just beyond the raptors, greatcoat billowing in the breeze… He came. He came for me.

The alpha raptor lunged, grabbing, snapping hold of Jack's sleeve. My bow, its arrow already nocked, came up and seemed to shoot of its own accord. The arrow sliced the air, and then it sliced through the raptor. Killing shot. Fast. Hopefully painless. The other raptors fled, confused at the loss of leadership. I was down the slope and into Jack's arms between the space of two heartbeats. I heard a startled, 'Wha-?' and then came realization and his lips found mine, crushing us together. I found myself lifted from the ground and spun. Jack was laughing and kissing me all at once. Jack finally stopped spinning, but didn't stop kissing until an absurd need for oxygen interceded. He took my face in both hands and gazed at me, grinning hysterically, 'Found you.' Yes, Sir. There was the sound of slipping rocks behind me. Fearing that the raptors had regrouped, I spun with a new arrow nocked and ready. 'Well, if it ain't Robin fuckin' Hood! You still alive, Teaboy?' Well, yes. Last time I'd checked.

Back at my cave, raptor skinned, filleted and roasting, almost ready for dinner, I noticed both Jack and Owen sitting, staring at me. Realized that after all this time, I must look a right state. Owen was the first to break the silence that had fallen, 'Velociraptor, really? Lemmie guess… tastes like chicken?' No, not really. But it isn't bad. Also in the plus column, keeps you from starving. I suggested that while he waited for dinner, Owen might collect some firewood. He pointed at my cache piled in the corner (well, as much as a cave actually has corners.) I pointed at the raptor and advised Owen that some of his mates get a bit more active once the sun goes down. Owen stood and stretched before informing us that he was going for a walk. As he headed out he added that he might pick-up some wood while he was out. (Sure just pick up a bundle at the ASDA on the corner… in a few million years.)

Now that we were alone with the roasting raptor, I noticed that Jack was still watching me where I was standing. I smiled. He gazed. I looked away. He tilted his head. I wished he'd stop. I was feeling more than a little self-conscious. 'Ianto.' Not much more than a whisper. Jack. 'How are you?' Better now. Much better, having you here. Jack tilted his head the other way and looked at me in that sideways manner, 'You are amazing. You saved us... from dinosaurs, with arrows. Rescued us... Rescued me.' I shrugged, changed the subject. I asked Jack if he could survive a pack of raptors. Jack chuckled, 'Well, better than Owen could, that's for sure. How… How long have you been here?' Three weeks, two days, 17 hours, and (checking my watch) 42 minutes, give or take. How long had it been, back at the Hub? Jack smiled, almost apologetically, 'Fifteen hours.' So you didn't have a chance to miss me, or anything? Jack stood so suddenly I thought he'd seen something behind me. I turned to look. Nothing there. When I turned back, Jack was there next to me, 'Damn right I already missed you.' He ran the back of his fingers down my cheek. I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch. 'I miss you, IantoJones, when you leave my office to go make coffee.' The grin, the big happy one. Then the grin faltered and suddenly Jack had me in an embrace, a rather crushing embrace, 'I… I thought I lost you.' I thought you'd lost me too.

Rather lost track of time, not hard to do in Jack's arms. Sometime later Owen returned growling, 'All right, break it up. Not alone anymore. And just so you know… there is no wood out there, anywhere. I've looked. Wood's obviously extinct, or not been invented yet. There is no fucking wood.' Okay. I'll go. Jack clutched my hand and whispered, 'If you don't mind, I'll go with you.'


	40. Owen

* * *

Last night I asked Jack how long before Tosh would be able to get us home again. In the firelight, I couldn't see more than his silhouette. I thought maybe he hadn't heard me and was about to repeat the question when I heard the sigh. He didn't have to answer, there wasn't an answer. She doesn't have a way to get us home, does she? Another sigh, then Jack breathed softly, 'Not yet.' But you came through anyway? Now you're trapped too. Jack shifted closer to me and whispered, 'Couldn't leave you here, all alone.' So you brought me Owen… thanks. Jack just laughed, 'I told him no.'

Apparently once Tosh had traced the Rift energy, sorted out where and when I was, as well as how she could send someone the same way, Jack had started making the plan. Seems Tosh tried to get Jack to listen, let her finish, give her his full attention. No luck. So she slapped him. Would have loved to see that, our little Toshiko, slapping the indomitable Jack Harkness… Anyway, as she finally had Jack's full attention, Tosh finished explaining that she simply didn't have the information to complete the equations. Yes, she could send him through to me, but as yet, she had no way of bringing anyone back home. Jack told her, okay, he understood. He went on to tell her to keep working on the equations, and finished detailing his plan, stopping only to request that she not slap him like that again, ever.

The plan was simple; Tosh would open the Rift and send Jack through. Tosh and Owen would then move heaven and Earth, perform miracles, and do whatever else was necessary to eventually find a way to bring us both home. Simple. Owen started to object, but Jack wouldn't listen to any arguments no matter how logical (And without Gwen around, everyone was apparently quite surprised at how few arguments there actually were.) So everyone did their jobs; the time came and Tosh opened a passage. Jack said that Owen tried again to protest Jack's going alone, pointed out that if there were any injuries… Jack had once again said no, Owen was to stay and help Tosh with the Rift Manipulator calculations, and that was an order. Jack gave a final salute and stepped through. When he arrived here in the past, he stood and surveyed the situation, (probably with hands on hips and coat billowing out behind.) Jack was then promptly knocked off his feet by the arrival of Owen. 'What happened? Did the Rift pull you through after me? Did you get caught in a temporal flux draw?' Apparently not. Owen told Jack that, as hospitals wouldn't be invented for a few years yet, the mission needed a medic. When Jack reminded him, rather loudly I gather, that this was currently (and possibly permanently) a one-way trip, Owen just shrugged, 'Yeah well, can't let our T-boy get all eaten-up by a T-Rex, who'd make the coffee?' As Jack told me this, I was glad it was too dark for him to see me cry… I really miss coffee.

* * *

I have a sudden intense craving for peanut butter. I don't even particularly like peanut butter.

Jack was asking me about the goatee I currently have going. Told him you try shaving with nothing more than a Swiss Army knife and see how he does. Owen reckons it makes me look like I'm from an alternate universe and has spent the last few hours referring to me as "Evil Ianto." Never figured Owen for a Star Trek fan. Jack, however, disagrees. Seems he likes the goatee… a lot. Apparently he's finally gotten around to watching the Pirates of the Caribbean DVDs I'd loaned him a while back. He thinks the facial hair makes me look like Wil Turner. Dunno, haven't got a mirror. Still, suppose it's not really an insult, telling someone they're looking a bit like Orlando Bloom.

* * *

Don't know if I should be feeling renewed hope, or total despair. At first I thought the shimmer was just a heat mirage. A trick of the light. The more I looked, however, the more it glowed. Then I realized what it really was: absolute proof of Toshiko Sato's stunning genius. She'd done it. She'd found a way to open the Rift, to get us home. Brilliant, she really is bloody amazing. So why aren't I ecstatically, deliriously happy? (Well, besides being me, and all?) More to the point, why aren't we all back home in the Hub by now? Could it be because that might have been our one and only chance? That if Tosh can't manage to do the re-calculations and open a portal a second time, that we'll be stuck here forever? Or could it possibly be because if we are stuck, that it's entirely my fault?

I was petty, I was thoughtless, and I was unkind. And because of that, we might never get back home. It was brainless and immature. Owen has teased and taunted me forever, since his very first words to me, my second day at Torchwood Three. But I can handle it, I can endure. Always have. But no, not this time. This time I gave in to the Dark Side. I snapped. I upset Owen so much, he had to walk away. And of course, while he was gone was when Tosh opened the portal home.

Okay, I get it. I deserve to be stuck here 'cause I didn't turn the other cheek. But what about Jack and Owen? They're only here in the first place because of me and now they might be permanently trapped because of me, as well. For the record, Owen was being a total twat. He'd spent the entire morning tossing condescending or insulting comments at me, always followed by that hideously annoying grin. As if the 'smile' afterwards made it okay. All just a joke between mates. No harm done. And also for the record, in my defense, I've been here over a month and my nerves are a bit… frayed 'round the edges… But really, that's still no excuse now is it? I could feel my hands ball themselves into fists, my jaw clench. As I closed my eyes and tried to take calming breaths, all I could picture was hauling off and knocking Owen on his arse. Not that I would have, I never got the chance anyway as Owen stood, stretched and announced, 'Right. Enough _pointless_ chit-chat.' That thin smile again. 'Think I'll head down to the pond for a bit. Give me a shout when you've got lunch ready.' The smile again, even thinner. I wanted to _give_ him something, all right, but 'a shout' would have been the least of it. Stranded in pre-history, chance of rescue somewhere between nil and ridiculously improbable, only three people on the entire planet… and nothing's changed. To Owen, I'm still the tea-boy and my only purpose is to provide food and drink.

To my credit, I didn't poison Owen. I didn't scream at him, knock him on his arse, or even trip him when he wasn't looking. He had, however, made me feel more irrelevant, inane and insignificant, than ever before. He also made me feel quite immature, and as such, I did seek my revenge. So last night I waited until Owen was asleep (after I'd made a rather large dinner, which Owen obliged me in stuffing himself full.) Jack, on the other hand, took a little longer to fall asleep. After ten minutes of combing my fingers through his hair and humming softly, he too was out cold. No witnesses. So I set to work in the firelight. It was a simple thing, didn't take too long at all and I was soon done and nestled down with Jack and asleep as well.

This morning found me awake first, as always. Not quite dawn, I rebuilt the fire, started breakfast, and waited. Jack was up next; still actually trying to claim that he doesn't really sleep. There we sat, the two of us in a comfortable, companionable silence, and we waited, Jack for breakfast to cook and me for Owen to awaken. Soon some mumbling and shifting let me know it wouldn't be long. (Leave it to Owen, he even complains in his sleep.) Sure enough, within minutes, there was Owen, sitting up, cartoonishly yawning and stretching. Then he opened his eyes, looked up and screamed.

Have to admit that I seriously underestimated the effect. When I painted the image on the cave wall above the sleeping Owen, I imagined a reaction come morning. I anticipated a startled laugh, probably a curse, and possibly a rock lobbed at my head. I never for a moment… if I had, I certainly would never… the sound of his scream, filled with what sounded like terror, the sight of Owen scrambling backwards, away… it was all so horrible and filled me with immediate shame and regret. Then, it only got worse. Jack, who'd observed Owen's awakening without a sound, suddenly fell over laughing, literally. Owen tried his best to regain some level of composure, in light of his boss' presence. Jack, however, simply continued to roll on the floor, expressing his amusement, and rather loudly at that.

Owen stood and stormed over to where I was now standing, stopping just short of knocking me down. I waited for him to scream, to hit me, to do something. Anything. He glared at me, squinted, frowned. I should have looked away, but I just looked Owen in the eye and smiled, "Your breakfast won't be but a minute or three." Owen's breathing got heavier, threatening action, but action never came. Instead, he turned and left the cave without a word. I expected a reaction, but that certainly hadn't been it. The silence of the early morning was now broken only by the slightly sobbing snicker of Jack, still lying on the floor. Eventually Jack regained enough control to come to where I still stood. He clapped a hand on my shoulder and tried to look at me with a stern look, and doubled-over laughing again. Several deep breaths and Jack fixed me with that glare of his, 'IantoJones. That was… I should put you over my knee for that.' I was already so full of regret, I wished Jack would punish me. I stared at the cave floor. Jack lifted my chin with his forefinger until I met his eye. Then he continued, the stern and disapproving glare shifting to a grin, 'That was brilliantly perfect… just like you.' He kissed me on the cheek, even if I deserved a slap instead. Then Jack grinned even wider, 'I have never, in all my life, seen that kind of reaction to a drawing of Tin-tin.'

I looked for Owen for the next hour, to apologize. I could follow his tracks easily enough, but short of running after him to catch-up… Also got the impression it'd be better to let him alone for a while longer. As I returned to the cave, planning on a breakfast that'd be a bit more special, a bit apologetic, I passed the stone cross I'd built when I first arrived. Someone had shifted the stones into the shape of a happy face. I rolled my eyes and that was when I first saw the shimmer. I screamed for Jack. He charged from the cave with my still unperfected crossbow, apparently ready for anything. Then he saw it too. Jack actually 'whooped' with joy, grabbing me and spinning me round, 'We're going home!' He kissed me and laughed before asking where Owen was. I told him that he hadn't come back yet and I hadn't been able to find him. Jack laughed again, 'Once a pain in the butt, always a pain in the butt. Okay, I'll go find him. You go through and tell Tosh to hold it open for us. We'll be right behind you.' Jack looked at me, rather intently, 'And no arguing! I want you through and waiting for me on the other side. _That_ is an order. _Understand_?' Yes, Sir. He kissed me again, and dancing around the edge of the Rift energy, Jack took off following Owen's trail at a full run.

I stood and stared at the mesmerizing lights. The colours transitioned from the yellows and reds to blues and whites. And then after a few minutes, I watched them fade into nothingness.

A handful of minutes later, Jack and Owen flew over the hill and skidded to a stop. Bent over, hands on knees, they gasped for breath. Jack raised his head, his eyes searching mine. I barely managed the whisper needed to tell him that it was already gone. Owen kicked violently at the sand, a long stream of silent obscenities on his lips, undoubtedly all directed at me. Jack stood now, still panting, 'I thought I told you to go through.' It wasn't exactly a question, but I still answered, "Yes. You did." Hands on his hips, Jack frowned at me, 'That was an order. Didn't I make it clear that it was an order? Because I thought I was pretty clear.' Yes, Sir. 'You didn't obey.' I was grateful that he hadn't added the 'me' on the end of that sentence. No, Sir. Jack wouldn't allow me to look away, 'Any particular reason you no longer feel the need to follow my orders?' I looked away, but then back to Jack. I wasn't going to leave him, either of them.

I've spent the rest of the morning and all afternoon gathering firewood. Who am I kidding? I'm so wretched and ashamed I've been out hiding from Jack and Owen. Never in my life have I felt this bad. This guilty. Not even when… after Lisa… Back then, what I did, it was wrong and selfish… At least then I had a good reason. Then here… it was bad enough, to deal with the blame, the responsibility that Jack and Owen were here, because of me, but for me to have gone and possibly destroyed the one chance to get home again…

And now, as if my shame weren't enough, while I was off collecting firewood all day, the cave was invaded by scavengers. The last of the raptor was dragged off and now there's no food. Brilliant. Something else I couldn't do right. My one responsibility here as teaboy, and I can't even provide food.

Sometimes Jack makes me want to scream. With the number of nocturnal predators around, he's restless and hungry and wants to go hunting. I pointed out that not only are the large dinosaurs out there just as hungry as Jack, but that we should stay close, in case Tosh can get the portal open again. Jack's cogent argument? He puts on the world's worst Welsh accent and says, 'Oh right! We should all just wait right here and staaaarve, then!' Immature as it was, I had to reply in my broadest American voice, "Naw, you're right. Let's just go out and get ourselves eaten. Problem solved." Jack just glared at me, holding me accountable for the lack of dinner. And quite right, too. I turned and walked back to the fire, to hear Jack yell, 'Don't you walk away from me!' Why not? It's not like you ever listen to me anyway. Even if you pretend to listen, you'll still do what _you_ want, anyway. You never give a shit about what I think. 'Why? Why don't you want me to go hunting?' I stood, hands on my hips, resolutely not looking at Jack, not answering. 'Ianto.' Jack. 'Ianto. Tell me. Talk to me…' I had to take a moment. I had to breathe before I could tell him that, "I can handle this, stuck in the past, surrounded by desert and creatures. I can do this because I have you. Without you Jack, if something happened to you, then this'd all be too much." Jack moved to stand behind me, wrapping his arms around me. I folded my arms across my body and over the top of his arms, leaning back into him. Jack's tone softened, 'C'mon Ianto, you know me…' Can you survive being eaten by a T-Rex, Jack? Torn to pieces by velociraptors? Could you survive that? 'Cause I know I couldn't survive if I lost you here Jack. 'You're serious about this?' Yes. 'You don't trust me? Don't think I can handle myself?' This isn't about you handling yourself, and if you even try to make that into an innuendo, I'll… 'Ianto, give it up, you know you can't pull-off making threats…' Jack. 'Ianto.'

I wanted nothing more than to just give-up and cry. If something happened to Jack, to either of them, because of me… Jack moved around to face me, to look at me. I tried to look away, but he wouldn't let me. Jack's eyes have a depth to them that is at once dizzying and exhilarating. I had no option but to submit to their draw. He read me, then and there, and knew everything I would have kept hidden. Jack's look softened, saddened. 'You can't. You can't blame yourself for any of this, Ianto. This is not your fault. I won't let you make yourself responsible. Do you understand me?' Jack didn't wait for a reply, but pulled me to him, held me as if he'd never let me go.

It was at that point Owen chose to remind us that we had an audience with, 'Oi! How long, exactly have you two been married, anyway?' He then suggested that we go off hunting together, or go off and '_do'_ each other, whatever… as long as we stopped the domestic.

We went hunting together, Jack and I. Neither of us letting the other take risks, we actually made quite a team. I still hate killing anything. Even for survival. Even if the prey would gladly kill us without a first, let alone a second thought. Still, something about being out with Jack makes it all bearable. Jack makes everything bearable.

Of course tonight Jack expects make-up sex. Who am I to say no to that? (Or to him.) After all, it's not like we fight much, have to take the opportunities where you can, right?

* * *

I was so absolutely shocked by what Jack said to me this morning, really thought I must've misheard. Some measure of disbelief probably showed on my face, because he said it again, 'Yes, IantoJones. You really are the most heroic and selfless person I have ever met.' All I could do in response was frown. If Jack was teasing, it wasn't funny. He continued, 'First time I realized it, really, was… sorry, but for what you were willing to do, to risk for… Lisa. And after, when you came back to us-' I told him that I had no where else to go. 'You could have requested retcon, lived a normal, safe life.' A life without purpose. 'Exactly! You need to help, Ianto. No matter what, you always help. Always do what others need, no matter what. No matter the personal cost… You never did read Tosh's report, did you? On the Brecon Beacons mission? Wish you would, really. Because I think it's sexy-hot when you blush… Yep! Just like that!' Jack's grin can really be quite insufferable at times. I told Jack I knew full well I was never heroic, and asked him to stop teasing me, please. 'Why can't you believe it, Ianto? It's true. In that report, Tosh called you her hero, her savior and her _knight in shining armour_. She mentioned your self-sacrifice, selflessness and a couple of other words I had to look-up. A lot of the same words that Gwen used in her reports from while she was in charge. And in my own reports, the Atmos plant, the space whale warehouse…' I asked him again to please stop. He's heroic, not me. The things he does, what he achieves. Me… Owen's right, I'm only a teaboy, heroically serving the coffee. Jack grabbed my wrists with a forcefulness that made me jump, 'If I ever hear you say that again, I'll…' Jack was so furious he couldn't seem to find the words. He didn't have to; Owen had appeared at some point and concluded for him with, 'I'll beat the crap out of ya.' He swaggered (literally) over to me and shoved my shoulder, 'I'm not putting up with anyone calling you a teaboy, but me. Understand? Not even you, yourself, Teaboy. And for the record, you are so fucking selfless and gallant, you make me want to puke. Dunno if I'd say heroic, but… yeah, guess I would…' I was stunned, absolutely astounded, was there even the slightest chance they we're sincere?

Still wasn't believing they meant what they were saying, trying to say. Eventually they gave up and just started discussing me with each other, as if I weren't still there: 'He's not getting it, is he?' –Jack. 'Never fucking will.' –Owen (no, really?) 'Why can't he understand? Not like he isn't smart.' 'Nah, Teaboy's brilliant… about anything else. About himself, he's just never gonna see it.' 'Still, that doesn't answer, why?' 'How should I fucking know? I'm not that kind of doctor. Every bloke and his sister throw themselves at him and he thinks they're just being nice. Teaboy nabs the weevil, seals the Rift, or keeps the alien armada from invading and it's nothing, or a "team effort." Without his coffee, the team'd kill each other, in brutally sadistic ways. Without him, Torchwood would implode…' Owen stopped for a well-earned breath and Jack continued, 'And without Ianto, there just wouldn't be any point.' He turned to face me again, 'Really, a world without IantoJones would be a world not worth saving, personally speaking.'

Okay, you can stop now, really. Jack went on to tell me that I couldn't have guilt without taking credit too. I told him the guilt comes easier. Jack grinned and said, 'But it's much less deserved.' 'No it isn't,' Owen growled. I sighed and opened my mouth to make the apology I should have made last night. He never gave me the chance. Owen continued, 'It isn't less deserved. Isn't bloody fucking deserved at all. I pushed you all day. Surprised you didn't feed me to the raptors, knock me on my arse or poison my dinner. But you didn't. You got back in your own fucking smart-arse way. And honestly, Ianto, if you hadn't done something, I'd never have resp-… been able to work with you again. Just wasn't expecting it, revenge by Tin-tin. Bloody devious.' I could tell that Owen had run out of steam in what, for him, amounted to an extremely emotional outburst. Or even more foreign to him, a kind of apology. Now he stood nervously self-conscious, mumbling, 'Can't believe you even remembered talking 'bout Tin-tin in the Himalayas…' I tried to break the tension, "I remember everything." Owen just grinned.

Jack stood watching the two of us. Proudly? A sudden thought occurred to me just now, but I'm finding it disturbing. Could it be that Owen's main source of conflict with me… is something like sibling rivalry? I can see that he's always looked to Jack as something of a father figure. Does Owen really perceive me as a threat? A rival for Jack's approval? Owen pushed past me, 'Now, if you're done chatting with your boyfriend here, when's breakfast? I'm fucking starving.'


	41. Fragile

So, not only does neither Jack nor Owen blame me for any of this, they refuse to even let me hold myself responsible. In fact, Jack told me later that he'd be happy if I could be a 'little more selfish and a little less self-sacrificing.' That if I were, he'd definitely relax more and worry less. Jack worries about me?

* * *

Jack had left the cave this morning while I was working on breakfast. Reckon he thought he'd leave Owen and me with some privacy to sort out whatever tension remained between us. What he left us with, really, was an awkward silence and a lack of words. Still, in our own Harper/Jones sort of way, we managed to say everything that needed to be said. Harper: 'We okay?' Jones: "Yep." Harper: 'Right. Do I have time to go down to the pond?' Jones: "Nope. Breakfast's ready. Call Jack?" Harper: 'Right. Be right back.' Jones: "'Kay." See how I cleverly cleared up everything between us and still managed to get in the last word?

Odd, very odd. Must be the boredom. Jack and Owen have a new competition: _Who does Ianto like best?_ Get the distinct feeling that this is for my benefit, more than anything else. They're still trying to reassure me and keep my recent feelings of self-loathing at bay. As Owen made it patently clear, right from the start, that romantic issues were not to be a factor in judging, they've spent the better part of the morning comparing things I've done for them. Owen actually just told Jack, 'Yeah, sure, but you're his boss… and shagging him. Of course he does those things for you. I'm a mean bastard, and we still go out drinking and what not.' Jack responded with, 'That's just because Ianto's a nice guy and feels sorry for you. Doesn't mean he likes you.' Apparently Owen has jumped to a rather surprising lead and Jack is currently pouting at me with a, 'You never made me double-chocolate chocolate chip Belgian waffles for breakfast. No wonder it took so long for Owen to move out of your flat. I like chocolate too, you know.' Yes Jack. I promise to make you a double batch… as soon as chocolate is invented. If we ever do get back to Cardiff, I'll make you all waffles.

Wonder if, back in the real world, if Gwen is home from Paris yet. Hope she had a good time. That'd be a bit of a shock, getting home… back to the Hub to find only Tosh is still there. Hope they're doing okay. Hope Tosh hasn't given up on getting us home. Jack's told me that he hadn't realized that the negative Rift spikes had anything to do with this, with me disappearing. As such, he hadn't told Tosh about them. That's not good. But still, Tosh is smart. There's still a chance she can work this out without that information. It just won't be any easier. Still, if anyone can figure this out, it's our Miss Sato.

Owen just read that last line over my shoulder and had a rather unexpected reaction. If I didn't know better, I'd have said it was jealousy. Of course I had to test my hypothesis. In response to his question of, 'And what are you writing about _Our Miss Sato,_ exactly?' I looked up and smiled. Just smiled. But it was that little smile that makes Jack realize exactly what I'm thinking about for later that night. The look with the just slightly raised eyebrow. Well, hypothesis confirmed. Owen frowned and his skin changed to the strangest shade of green. He squinted at me and I really do believe that were we in Victorian England, instead of Cretaceous Who-Knows-Where, Owen would have slapped me with his glove and challenged me to a duel. Stuck in a cave in the past, nothing on the yet-to-be-invented-telly, and little to no chance of getting home, I decided that now would be the perfect time to tell Owen everything Tosh wished he knew but would never tell him for herself. I think he was really rather stunned and more than a little disbelieving when I spelt out for him in no uncertain terms that Tosh had been madly smitten with him as long as I'd known them, and probably longer. That the reason he was able to rudely comment on her lack of a social life was that she was still holding out romantic hope… for him. As I listed examples of her actions and reactions that proved my supposition, Owen's frowns, smirks and sounds of disbelief grew ever less frequent. In the end, my point proven, I concluded with, "She's really an incredible woman, Owen. Think about it, think about her and let her know if your interested or not, one way or the other. Oh, and one more thing… whether you decide to pursue something with her or not, keep in mind… if you break her heart, I will kill you. Slowly."

Owen has advised me that he can never tell when I'm serious. Told him that's easy, I'm always serious.

* * *

I've managed to convince Owen that we are living in the 'Plasticine' Era. Really can't believe he's bought that. Yes, here we are, between the Jurassic and the Cretaceous, smack in the middle of the Plasticine (Where of course all those little plastic toy dinosaurs come from.) Owen: 'Yeah, yeah, yeah, I think I've heard of that before!'

I think that maybe Owen tried to show off to Jack just now. Telling him all about the Plasticine Era. (Should I have gone with Epoch instead? No, I like the sound of Era better.) From what I gather, Jack just started to laugh. Owen came storming up to me at the pond just now, seething. 'What, exactly, is plasticine? Huh, Teaboy?' I tried to keep a straight face as I told him that plasticine is a brand of putty-like modeling clay, made from aliphatic acid, calcium salt, and petroleum jelly. That it's a registered trademark of Flair Leisure Products plc. Oh, and it's also the self-titled name of a Canadian import CD released in… 2001, I believe. Owen just squinted at me, frowning for quite some time, 'Do you know fucking everything?' Looking at Owen seething, the straight face was getting harder to maintain, "No... I really couldn't tell you if it was a good CD or not, although as there never seemed to be a second album released, I'd have to assume-" Owen interrupted, 'So… we aren't _in _the Plasticine Era?' Umm, no. With that, Owen pushed me into the pond.

Brilliant. Five and a half weeks and I had managed to keep my wool trousers dry. If they start to shrink now I'm not sure what I could do about it. Jack's just read that over my shoulder and his suggestions were less than helpful: 'You could wear a loincloth, you know… me Jack, you Ianto.' When I turned, looked up at him and frowned, he grinned and offered the alternative, 'Or my personal favourite… you could simply wear nothing at all.' You'd like that, wouldn't you? 'Oh, yeah.' Somehow I don't think Owen would appreciate that. 'Somehow, I think he might.' Jack. 'Ianto…' I am not running around the Cretaceous naked, for your personal amusement. Owen had appeared, but rather than comment on Jack's naked suggestion, he chose to say, 'So it's the fucking _Cretaceous_, is it? Not Plasticine?' Yes Owen, I thought we'd already settled that. That is the correct archaeological term, it really is the _Fucking Cretaceous Era_. Is that all you have to say? 'Nah, also have to say it smells like fucking wet sheep in here.'

I've noticed that Owen's vocabulary is rather limited (especially where adjectives are concerned.) It seems that he really does favour a select few. First amongst his favourites: 'fucking' (as an adjective.) Also factoring in, 'fucking' as either a verb or an adverb. He also seems to like 'fucked' and 'fucktastic.' To a lesser extent, there is also 'unfuckingbelievable.' All variations on a theme. I really would think a man with a medical degree could do better.

Maybe I've read Owen wrong. Maybe he's just fixated on the letter F. Still, think he could expand his vocabulary a bit. In fact, lots of favourite words begin with the letter F. Familiar, fundamental terms, like fashionable, faithful, frustrated, forgotten, formal. Also some less favourable, but still appropriate… fault, forlorn, frustrated, frail, foolish, failure. So when, exactly, did I stop talking about Owen here? I figure I'm fervently fearful, fretting that I'll be forever forsaken by fate. In fact, I find I'm focused, fixated even, by a fatalistic fear of fierce failure. It makes me furious, in my flawed foundationless fear, but also frightened, flummoxed, and fragmented. I miss home.

* * *

Seems that all this is starting to get to us, all of us, not just me. That has to be it, really. I think I was acting a little off last night (a speculation supported by that last diary entry.) Jack seemed to sense it and spent the better part of the evening just holding me by the campfire. He was leaning up against the boulder, rather than sitting on it, and pulled me down next to him, to lean back against his chest. There he wrapped one arm over my shoulder and down my chest and used the other to run his fingers lightly through my hair. At one point I briefly considered asking him to stop. Only 'cause it wasn't really fair, that we have each other while Owen sat across from us, alone. It felt so good, though, I never wanted Jack to stop, never wanted him to let go of me. I was starting to feel guilty at feeling content and happy, too guilty. And that's when Owen commented, 'Don't you two look cosy.' I shifted, embarrassed, but Jack held me tighter and replied, 'You're just jealous.' I closed my eyes, tight. I expected Jack to make some further comment, say that everyone wanted to be held by him, that he had that effect on people. Worse yet, I expected him to offer to hold Owen as well… or instead. Jack continued however with 'You want to hold Ianto, but I got him first.' I felt my blush flare and waited, mortified, for Owen's retort. Waited for him to berate me, tell Jack that even if I were the last person on Earth… to just laugh at the very thought. His answer was not at all what I expected as he murmured, 'Yeah, well maybe.'

I'm having a hard time sorting all that out. Jack had just snickered and said 'Too bad. He's mine.' Owen had frowned and looked away. I lay there, still held by Jack, and quickly, quietly burst into flame. Embarrassed, humiliated and utterly mortified. Owen must've been trying to get me back for the Tin-tin cave painting and the whole plasticine thing. I thought it patently unfair of him to get his revenge by mocking me that harshly. And worse that Jack would help him. Luckily he didn't say anything more about it, and we stayed like that in silence for a while before the subject was mercifully changed.

Now, as if it weren't bad enough that Owen was mocking me last night, Jack's started it up again this morning. He's trying to convince me that Owen likes me. _Likes_ me. First of all, Owen is straight. At least I think he is, he always talks like he is. Anyway, second of all, even if… I really don't think I'd ever be his type. (Then again, I really don't see myself as Jack's type… and yet here we are.) Nevertheless, Owen can pretty much just barely force himself to put up with me, so if Jack wants to try to pull my leg, persuade me that Owen feels anything but contempt for me, he's going to have to work harder at it. I think they're both bipolar. Couple of days back they were trying to make me feel good, now they're both ridiculing me by trying to make me believe that Owen's attracted to me. Really starting to get tired of providing them with amusement.

Jack just asked me, quietly and seemingly in all seriousness, if I would ever consider Owen. I gave him what I hoped was my best frowny warning look and just glared at him. He visibly brightened and just said 'Good' kissed me on the cheek and wandered off humming Cole Porter again, apparently I'm _Easy to Love._ Now I'm really confused.

* * *

Just like that, it's over and Tosh has once again proven that she is the most incredibly brilliant genius on Earth. Home. Never thought I'd be so happy to smell the mildew of the Hub again. This time, when the lights started to shimmer, we were all there, all three of us together. I think Owen was the first to see it, because suddenly he was grabbing hold of my shoulder with a strangled cry. Jack just said, 'No waiting this time.' With a quick kiss, he shoved me through and into the light. That same falling and floating, and I have to say, being ready for it, knowing what to expect didn't make it one bit easier to take. Opening my eyes to see Tosh grinning widely at me with a little squeal, however… that was absolutely brilliant. Owen was through a moment later followed swiftly by… nothing. Waiting, I found myself trying to squint into the Rift, like it was nothing more than a dirty window. Where was Jack? The lights were starting to shift again, that subtle shift in colour. I inched forwards. Still nothing. Without thinking I stepped towards the portal, but found Owen's arms around my chest, holding me back. I struggled with him and found Tosh restraining me as well. I remember saying, "Please…" I'm not sure if it was a request for the Rift to return Jack, or for my teammates to let me go, go to him. It would seem that the Rift was listening and Jack materialized before me only a moment later with a grin and a, "Hey! Why'd ya start the group hug without me?"

I was in Jack's arms and really of the opinion that I never would let him go. "What took you so long?" Jack had been about to step through the portal when something buried in the sand had caught his eye. A box, the colour of tarnished gold, carved like a Chinese puzzle, or drawing by Escher. I have no idea what it is, or how it was suddenly visible there after so long, but then again, I'm home now, and so I really don't care. Tosh got us home. Jack and Owen kept me alive and sane. I can go buy a volleyball any time I want one, now. I can have a shower and clean clothes. I can have Jack.

At Jack's request I've filed the box in with the Class D Unidentifieds and had what could possibly be the longest, best shower I have ever had in my entire life (the filing was at Jack's request, not the shower.) I'm now wearing a wonderfully clean, pressed suit, straight back from the drycleaners. I'm making coffee. Jack is looking at me while Tosh is telling him something, and I get the distinct impression that whatever it is that she's saying is not what Jack is thinking about. I am enjoying this moment in my life and actually allowing myself to feel good for a change.

Okay. Guess that was too good to last. Jack is actually listening to what Tosh is saying now. The look on his face… it isn't that there's something wrong, so much as it's there's something that's just not right.

It's fine. After I took Jack and Tosh their coffee, Jack put his arm around me and continued their conversation, "So if it wasn't you… who figured out the formula?' Tosh sipped her coffee and shook her head, 'Well I had the formula, just not all of the figures. There were blanks in the data still, at least as of last night. I guess I fell asleep, and then this morning when I woke-up… there it was, all complete.' Jack was frowning; he asked if she'd verified security, if we'd been hacked. Apparently Tosh had already checked. No one had broken into the Hub, no one had gotten through the firewalls, just suddenly there were the answers, typed into the computer at Tosh's station, while she was asleep across her desk.

I left Jack and Tosh to discuss possible outside interference and went to my station to take a look at last night's CCTV footage. Poor Tosh, laying there at her station. I wonder how long she'd worked, trying figuring it all out by herself, all alone. Must still be exhausted. Anyway, as I pulled up the footage, I couldn't help but smile. There in the middle of the darkened Hub, while Tosh lay snoring quietly, there she was, my little blue blur, Jgem'a. She seemed to stare at Tosh's monitor for a minute or two before jumping up on the keyboard. Hopping rapidly from key to key, suddenly the formula was complete.

When I showed Jack the CCTV footage he glared at the screen. For a minute I feared he was cross. But I'd told him about Jgem'a, that she was still in the Hub. I remember telling him. True, Jack hadn't seemed to believe me at the time, and I didn't do much to try to convince him, but I had told him. As I prayed he wasn't thinking that I'd let yet another alien threat loose in the Hub, I waited. Jack re-ran the footage. Twice. Then he laughed, 'Saved by a hamster. How am I supposed to enter that in my log?' I think he felt my shoulders relax, 'What?' I was worried you'd be angry at me, for knowing she was here. '_She_… Should I be jealous?'

* * *

This morning Tosh asked me what was the worst thing about being trapped back in time, especially when I was there all alone. I had to think about that, but only for a moment, "Not being able to say goodbye." Then she asked what the best thing was. I didn't have to think about that at all, "That Jack came for me. That he risked 65 million years alone, just to come for me."

I'm really beginning to think that Jack has taken to reading my diary. There were times back in the cave when it isn't where I'd swear I'd left it… and then I've found it places I'm sure I'd looked already. Worse yet, there are times when I'm sure he's making references to things I've written. Things that couldn't be coincidence. Today he seems to have spent an inordinate amount of time using words that start with the letter F.

Even though she's clearly exhausted and he's been through a lot, Jack sent Tosh and Owen out on a weevil call this evening. When I moved to go with them, Jack asked for my help with a file that's gone missing. I'm starting to think Jack is really trying to limit my exposure to risky situations. In fact, today he's seemed reluctant to even let me out of his sight… or his reach. When I finally confronted him just now, to confirm my suspicions, Jack pulled me into his arms, 'I can't risk loosing you. Not again.' You didn't loose me. I'm right here. 'Came so close, Ianto. Just let me keep you completely safe, just for a little while.' Not even weevil hunting? 'Not yet.'


	42. Adamantly Memorable

I suppose I should clarify what happened, exactly. I didn't confront Jack, not really. Tosh did. As I'd mentioned, since we've been back, Jack's been treating me like I'm made of glass. I must be the only Field Agent in Torchwood Three's history, destined never again to set foot back in the field. Jack wouldn't even let me go out to check on a Rift spike that didn't show any associated life signs. This morning I was just starting to think maybe I'd done something wrong, that I'd disappointed Jack. Then, on the way past the conference room just now, I overheard him and Tosh talking. Hard not to hear it, really. Tosh wasn't yelling, but was close to it, 'You have to trust him, Jack. He's stronger than you realize, or give him credit for.' I kept walking, realizing their discussion was clearly none of my business. Until, that is, Tosh continued, 'Ianto is great in the field. You, of all people should recognize that.' Jack's laugh, the reflexively suggestive one, was followed by, 'The field, the Hub, the SUV, Ianto's _great _everywhere.' 'Jack, I'm being serious here.' 'Yeah, so am I,' Jack paused, sighed. 'I know what you're saying, Tosh. Really. And I agree. But… you weren't there. With the dinosaurs. The constant threats, the danger. I had a lot of time to think, what it'd be like, to loose him… Can you blame me? Holding him a little closer, a little tighter…' 'No, Jack. I can't blame you. If I had what you do, I'd hold on and never let go. But we aren't talking about letting him go… And you can't just keep him out of the field and pretend he doesn't belong out there with the rest of us. Tell him. Tell Ianto…' 'But how, Toshiko. What do I say to him?'

I couldn't lurk in the hallway any longer and as I moved into the room, Tosh continued, 'Tell him why. Just tell him it isn't his fault, that he didn't do anything wrong and that you believe in him.' Jack looked up and saw me as I paused at the end of the conference table. He moved forwards, towards me, with a sadness in his eyes… as if he'd already lost me. 'Not your fault… Nothing wrong…' He took me in his arms and whispered, 'I believe in you… I just can't loose you.' Tosh quietly slipped from the room to give us some privacy, but as she moved past us to the door I caught her whispered, 'Hold on to him and never let go.' I don't know if she was talking to me, or to Jack, but I couldn't agree more.

Janet seems unusually aggravated lately. Could be her diet (well, eating _that_ would affect anyone.) But it might be something else entirely

The others have gone to check on a possible alien artifact in the front window of the _Ada Miles Antique Shop_ on Queen Street this morning. Once again, Jack has left me here to hold down the Hub. (So much for that whole previous interaction in the conference room. Jack's always been a little reluctant to change his mind, over anything, even when he knows he should.) There was something Owen wanted me to check on while he was gone… Can't for the life of me remember what it was. I've tried calling him three times, but he keeps dismissing my call. Ah well, if I can't remember it, it couldn't have been that important, then, could it? Whatever it was.

In a moment of sheer boredom I started a list of words that begin with F. I'm up to 146 of them and it's only 10a.m.

Tosh presented me with a coffee upon their return just now. It was one from that new little shop up on the Quay, 'I guessed that back in time… you'd been spending all your time looking after those two. I thought maybe someone should do something for you for a change.' Tosh was probably just happy that she wasn't stuck here all alone anymore. I didn't know what to say to her, apart from thanks. Apparently she'd tried to make me a coffee herself earlier, but couldn't figure out my machine. Let me get this straight, Tosh, our brilliantly clever Toshiko, who can create, analyze, or reverse engineer any tech (terrestrial or otherwise) that we have ever come across… Yet she can't figure out my espresso machine?

Oh that is it. Jack _has_ been reading my diary. He just told me I should, 'Feel flattered. I find you fascinatingly, flirtatiously fantastic.' I was utterly speechless. I could feel myself start with that bloody stammer again as I tried to work out an appropriately inappropriate retort. Looking back now, I really wish I'd just told him flat out, "Mind your own bloody business and if you're so interested in what I'm think about anything, why don't you just ask?" But then again, seeing as Jack seems to have taken to reading my very private and personal diary, I guess I did just tell him.

Owen had left me a note on the coffee machine asking about a Torchwood pool tournament. What tournament? Why didn't I know anything about this? If there's a tournament, surely I'd know about it.

Okay, apparently the pool tournament is something Tosh had mentioned to Owen a while back. Something or the other had just made him remember it recently. That started me wondering if this was finally actually an attempt by Tosh to ask Owen out. If that is the case, it wouldn't do to have everyone from work there as well, would it? Rather defeats the purpose. (Sad, a man can't see when someone is that interested in him.) Owen asked me, 'How good are you? Ever played before? I'm looking for a partner with skills.' Told him I'm better at darts, but yes, I can shoot. Also told him that I think Tosh plays a little.

Jack's decided that as not much is going on otherwise; it's time to dive into the unidentified Class D artifacts (They have, for some unfathomable reason, been labeled "_Archived D Artifacts: Mysterious_.") So right on the top of the crate is that puzzle box Jack brought back from the Cretaceous. As an item, it seems familiar, but how, I'm not sure. Like I've seen it, but don't want to see it. Or like I just can't remember. Strange. It's about the same size and shape as a shoebox, it looks like metal, like tarnished gold. But something's not… right about it. The weight is off. Like it's more than it should be. It's exquisitely beautiful, intricately mesmerizing and undeniably unsettling. It's as if something deep inside me wants to open it. But then, at the same time and utterly apart, there's something even deeper that screams at me, telling me to run from it, hide from it, do whatever needs to be done to destroy it. I'm tempted to go and research Pandora's Box, but that's just ridiculous, isn't it? A myth, right? It's just a box. 'No harm ever came from opening a box,' right? Nope, I've seen all those _The Mummy_ movies and that kind of thinking was their big mistake (well, that and believing that they could switch actresses in that third movie and no one would mind... Cool Yeti, though… even if they weren't very accurate... Where was I? Ah, right, I remember… the box.) I seem to recall the last innocent looking little box that someone who shall remain nameless (right Gwen?) insisted on opening. Step one: Open the box. Step two: retcon for everyone. Suppose that's a lesson worth remembering.

Okay, while I don't have to like it, I can understand Jack not wanting me hunting weevils or the like (and especially now it's cold and raining, I'm not really complaining.) However, if he insists on dropping me off and going alone, the least he could do is drop me at home. We drove in together this morning, so I don't even have a car. Now I'm trapped here 'til he comes back. Maybe Tosh and Owen are still around here somewhere. Still, even if they are, they're probably busy working on that box. As it's almost ten, everyone else has gone home and as I've nothing to do, here I am, alone again.

* * *

Couldn't find my diary at all for a while there. I'd been looking for it everywhere, the Hub, the vaults, the archives. I even had a look for it in the Tourist Office. (They say it's always in the last place you look… but that's rather obvious now, isn't it? 'Course it's in the last place. Once you found what you're looking for, why would you keep on looking anyplace else?) So anyway, three guesses where it was. Yep, Jack. Jack had it. Jack, in his office, with my diary… (Just look at the book, just at the book. No eye contact at all. Just get the diary back from him and run.) I shudder to think how much of it he's read. Knowing him, I can probably safely assume he's at least skimmed the entire thing, looking for all the times he's mentioned in it. How many times _is_ he mentioned in it? It's just _a damn_ book. Still, everything I wrote was how I was feeling at the time. Can't worry too much about what he thinks… who am I kidding? Of course I'm bloody worried about what he thinks. Oh, and then, when he fairly admitted to having read it... bringing up that bloody tape-measure again… I've thought of word number 456 for my list of F words. Owen would be proud.

In any case, I thought I'd gotten out of his office fairly unscathed, when Jack called me back. My heart was in my throat and my mind was running a catalogue of what other humiliating entries Jack might choose to comment upon. He just held up an evidence bag and asked, 'Who's Adam?' I told him I didn't know and made my second attempt at escape. It wasn't until I'd safely hidden my diary away (too late) and was making lattes that I'm actually stopping to think, _who is Adam_?

Apparently Jack finally managed to open the puzzle box. Not quite the Class D artifact after all. The technological treasure inside? Dirt. Well, sand really. But still… Whole lot of conjecture and debate over a box, full of sand. A wooden box, at that. Just why Jack had to go dump the sand all over the floor of his office though, I'll never know. Had me come back in to clean it up… oh…okay. Yep. Dust pan and a short-handled broom. He was checking out my arse… again. When will he ever realize, he only has to ask?

I just now realized that with all the confusion earlier (well that and my diary going 'missing' and all) I hadn't actually remembered to write down about all the strange happenings this morning. Not surprising, we've all been a bit confused all day, really. It's now morning. _Wednesday_ morning. Tosh, Owen, Gwen and I woke-up in the conference room like we'd been in a particularly boring meeting. In fact, that was my first thought, "Shit, did we all just fall asleep during Jack's morning meeting?" My second thought being "And where exactly is Jack, anyway?" Followed shortly thereafter by, "Why does my mouth feel like it's full of wool?" So anyway, the four of us woke-up in the conference room, but Jack was in the vaults, outside a cell. An empty cell. Why was Jack in the vaults? Had something been in there? Someone? And if so, where was it now?

None of us could remember a thing. There was a large bouquet of flowers on Tosh's station. The card was from Owen, yet he denies sending them. I'd have thought he was just teasing her, messing with her, but there're lots of things that just aren't right. Not remembered. I came across a list of words all beginning with the letter F. It's in my writing. I don't remember what it is, or why I'd write it. Also don't remember asking _Madam_ Cooper about her trip to Paris. Stranger still, I don't remember her telling us all about it in painfully minute detail. Why does there seem to be so much lately that I seem to have either forgotten, or overlooked? Hope there's nothing important.

Five doses of level 2 retcon unaccounted for. That's 48 hours for each of us. The CCTV has been erased, along with all the internal sensor data. Whatever happened, whatever was done, it looks like we were the ones who did it, but why?

I feel like I've been wearing this same shirt for days. Hell, the way things have been going around here, I probably have been wearing the same shirt for days. Finally got up the… courage? No, that's not the word… Anyway, went in to see Jack again. Told him that if I don't get a shower soon… plus I just feel like I haven't really slept in days. Jack agreed that it was time to call it a day (even if it actually had been several) and sent everyone home. As I was turning around at the cog door to wish him a good night, Jack almost ran right into me, pulling on his greatcoat as he followed me out. That grin, 'What? Aren't we at your place tonight?' So much for a shower, dinner and a good night's sleep. Figure if I'm really lucky, I might still get two out of the three. And where Jack's concerned, just how lucky I am will no doubt determine exactly which two I get.

* * *

Re-reading my diary for the last few days and there are definitely some entries I don't remember writing. That's only fair; they're written about things I don't remember doing.

Tosh's flowers had me thinking… Owen still denies that they're from him, but the card certainly looks like his writing. I pulled his credit card records. He did buy them (and paid too much. He should have asked me, I could have gotten him a much better price.) But why flowers at all? What could have happened to warrant an apology, especially an apology from Owen?

I've resumed the list of F words that I apparently started in the lost days. It's now up to 316. Really hope Jack lets me back into the field soon.

Owen's got himself a terrible rash, like he's been eating fish again. Why on Earth would he do that? He knows full well that he's allergic. We all remember what happened in Tibet… Not like he'd just forget or anything, nearly dying and all. Still, knowing Owen, he probably did it on a dare.

Cleaning up the conference room and I found a doodle on a notepad, a drawing of a rat. In a cartoon caption balloon, the rat's saying, 'I'm Owen and I'm a rodent.' Strangely enough, the writing is Tosh's. But Tosh would never… that's just not like her at all. Unless he said something… that must be it, could also explain the flowers.

Looking into it a bit more, entire blocks of CCTV have been expunged. Tosh tracked the erasures to Jack's log-on. Jack removed them, but why? (Well, I know full well why he erases the CCTV sometimes… when we… well. But there are way too many missing for that to be all there is to it.)

Tosh asked me to print the pictures from her camera for her. Yep. Not a problem. Okay, problem. There are pictures she doesn't remember taking (and not like that time alien-slime-infected Owen stole her camera and used it to take embarrassing pictures of himself, either.) There are pictures on Tosh's camera of a man that no one here knows. Like this one here, he's posing with some of the alien guns from the armory. Stranger still, he's posing _with_ Owen and Jack. In the picture they seem to know him, but right now, they have no idea who he is. And what could be stranger than a stranger in the Hub? That would be what Owen's wearing in the picture. The Rift, the aliens, the evil that men do… These things I've learned to cope with, even grown accustomed to them. Not sure I can deal with 'Geeky Owen.' What was he thinking? And the worst thing? Has to be his hair. Is there any hair product left for the rest of mankind, or has he used it all up? (That kind of image can't be real, I'll have to check for _camera damage_.)

There's a strange stuffed rat at Tosh's work station. No one appears to know where it came from either. Speaking of unusual rodents… I wonder where Jgem'a is lately. Haven't seen her in… well, to be honest, I have no idea how long.

Gwen just told me she could 'murder a coffee' and that phrase sent a shiver down my spine. Do I suddenly resent being the tea-boy? Or was it just the big apologetic grin she tacked on that bothered me so much?

Jack showed me a note he'd apparently written to himself sometime during those two days. Now I know something unusually bizarre happened, when Jack writes himself a note saying: _Remember to tell Ianto how much he means to you, how much you value him, how much you trust and believe in him. _Don't know how worried I should be over all this. How did we loose two days and more importantly, why? Maybe most importantly, what happened that Jack felt the need to write himself that note?

Looking back over my PDA, there was a reported weevil sighting by the sewer on Rockall Street. Really hope that's been sorted. Hate to think that it's still up there, prowling around.

I asked Jack about the weevil sighting and he's gone out to double check on all the weevil calls that came in during the blank days. He wants me to keep going through the CCTV while he's out to see what else I can find. (Not sure that isn't just another excuse to keep me in the Hub.)

Rhys called, rather frantic and looking for Jack. He just kept screaming, 'It's happening again.' Told him Jack was out and that he'd need to be a little more specific, as to what it was that was happening. 'Gwen's forgetting again.' Asked him what he meant, what was it that she was forgetting? It would seem that she'd forgotten that she'd had amnesia. Tired as I was, I sighed and told him that I didn't have time for jokes. Apparently not a joke. Rhys said that for the last couple of days Gwen hadn't remembered him or that they were engaged. (First thought that came to mind was that Rhys really wasn't all that memorable…) I asked him if maybe Gwen had been the one who was joking, having him on. Rhys' voice can get amazingly high-pitched when he's upset. Okay, no one's joking. Not a joking matter. Rhys then informed me that Jack and I, along with some other bloke, had been to their flat to try to sort the whole thing out. I started to ask about when all this happened when it occurred to me, Rhys has met Owen… what 'other' bloke? Rhys couldn't remember much about him besides, 'Ginger fella. Youngish. Name of Alun or Adam maybe.' I have a mental image of a Torchwood evidence bag, _who is Adam?_ Now I am starting to worry.


	43. A Dream About Me

* * *

Still in the camera, I found a video of Rhys. Nice dressing gown, by the way. In it, (the video, not the bathrobe) Jack was asking him questions about how he had met Gwen and the like. Can't think of a reasonable explanation for the video, other than it seems to support what Rhys told me on the phone last night. (Unless, of course, it was all just research for an episode of _This is Your Life_… unlikely.) So if none of us remember, does that mean we caught Gwen's amnesia? Didn't know there was such a thing as contagious amnesia. Maybe it's alien amnesia. (If I think the word amnesia too many times together, the word starts to sound really strange.) In any case, the camera indicates the video feed was transmitted to the Hub, but the time coding doesn't match anything received on this end. Was something else deleted? If so, when… and by whom? More importantly, why?

Was Gwen's amnesia the result of retcon, or something else entirely? Did she loose her memory and then we were all retconned? There are only five doses missing, so unless one of us really didn't get retconned at all, then Gwen's first memory loss (regarding Rhys) must've been something other than retcon. (Okay, now if I think the word 'retcon' too many times together, it sounds strange as well… are there any words I can't think too many times before they sound strange? Yep, I've got one… Jack. Can never think that one too many times. Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack… still sounds good to me.) So anyway, retcon and/or amnesia, but what caused either? Curiouser and/or curiouser.

Tosh asked if I'd been over for a movie night at her place in _those_ two days. Told her of course I was. We watched a double feature of Cary Grant films and had too much popcorn. If nothing else, even through retcon, that was the one thing that I could remember. She smiled, then she frowned, then she hit me. So apparently there was an empty bottle of wine with two glasses in her kitchen, and she'd just assumed it was us. Asked her if maybe she'd finally asked Owen over. That made her laugh, 'That'd be just my luck, wouldn't it? Finally get up the courage, he actually says yes… only no one can remember it, any of it.' Sounds familiar. In any case, I was wondering, does this have anything to do with that cartoon rat drawing? Or the flowers? What did Owen do to Tosh that would prompt him to apologize?

The miles on the SUV indicate local city driving only. Not like it suddenly _had a million_ miles on it or anything. Nothing out of the ordinary there, then.

My day today has consisted entirely of hours of CCTV reconstruction, broken up only by four rounds of coffee, and Jack's desperate request for some quick 'research help' in the archives. Really, he couldn't have waited until tonight?

* * *

The dream, I had it again last night only somehow it's managed to get worse. So, so much worse. Three of them. Hunted, stalked in the rain. Screaming, pleading all alone. Breathless, strangling, loosing hope. Crying, begging in the dark. No mercy and somehow I didn't care. This time it isn't weevils I was hunting… And it was all as if I just couldn't help myself.

When I finally woke-up, I guess I'd been screaming for quite a while. Jack looked so pale when I finally opened my eyes and he was holding me. I think I worried him. I think I worried myself.

The Hub seems so noisy today, almost overwhelming. I've come up to the Tourist Office just to get away from it all. There I was left pretty much alone, except for a couple of _mad American_ _tourists_ looking for _a dam_ somewhere in Cardiff. Really? _A dam_? In the city? Anyway, spending so much time trying to figure out what happened to us, I've let some of the everyday paperwork back-up a bit. Now that I've got all that caught-up again, guess I'll be heading back down to the Hub. Knowing Jack, he'll be needing another round of coffee fairly soon. Don't know what it is, I can't stop thinking about that dream again last night. I've had that dream so many times before… but it was weevils, it was always weevils. How could it… Why is it suddenly young women? It couldn't be truth, could it? Could it, could I-

What is happening to me? The last thing I remember I was writing the entry above. The next thing, I'm under the Tourist Office counter, curled in a ball, screaming and Jack's trying to hold me, to calm me down. Did I fall asleep? Did I have that dream again? What if I'm having that dream without sleeping now? Is it even a dream? It seems so real. Too real.

Owen's just finished running a full battery of tests on me, but they've all come back fine. He says I'm fine and as such, I've been released from his care. However, Jack's making me stay on the couch… again. Never did like this couch. Doesn't matter. He's ordered that someone has to be with me at all times. I can see him now, 'covertly' watching me from his office. The question is, why? Does Jack think that I'm in danger, or is it that I _am_ the danger? Does he think I'm a threat? I wish I could tell him that I'm fine; I think he's worried about me. But I can't tell him I'm fine. Not when I don't even know myself.

I'd given all the information I've accumulated to Jack. He'd been working on it in his office for hours when the others finally went home for the night. A few more hours along and I think he'd maybe forgotten about me, at least a bit. Then apparently he remembered. Jack came charging out of his office, looking around wildly at the darkened Hub. His eyes were the size of saucers. I waved at him from the couch. (Hello…) He smiled and did that little snort, 'You're still here.' You told me to stay on the couch. Where else would I be? 'Help me sort through all this?' So I joined him in his office and together we waded through it, all of it.

It's been several hours and we seem to have it pretty well sorted now. Without going into too much detail (it's all fully documented and in the secure archives now, anyway) suffice it to say there was an alien incursion. Like some evil genie in the lamp, it came in the puzzle box. His name was Adam and he did things to us, invasive, immoral, insidious things. He is a creature that survives either in, or on, the neural recollections of others. The only way to stop him… it, is to destroy all memory of him… it.

Best as we can figure, we'd tried just that. That was why Jack had us take the retcon. I can remember it now, gathered in the conference room. I took the pill immediately, not to kill Adam, not even because I wanted to destroy the false memories, but because Jack said to, and then I waited. That's also why Jack had my diary. (At least that's his official reason, and he seems to be sticking with it.) As Jack had gone through and deleted all the evidence of what happened in those two days, he was checking my diary for any entries that he thought might trigger recall. As I'd never mentioned Adam by name in it, it appeared safe. (Still… that doesn't explain why he seemed to be reading it _before_ all this started happening, not really.) Anyway, he thought he'd cleared all evidence, but it would seem there were a few things he may have missed.

I asked Jack, why me? The others seem to have been able to forget, let it go, why can't I? Why do I still have nightmares, memories of things that aren't mine? Things that aren't me? Things I didn't do, that I pray I didn't do… Oh God, what if that's why? What if I still remember… because it's all real, after all? I think I started to hyperventilate just then. Suddenly Jack was holding me, again. I asked him if it was at all possible, could it be that the memories were real, and that's why the retcon didn't work? The way Jack looked at me; there was a violence in his eyes that really frightened me. I thought, almost knew for that moment, that I was right. I could feel my lip start to tremble and that was when Jack answered me firmly and with evident resolve, 'Never.' He told me that there was no way that could ever be true. There was no way he would ever, could ever, believe me capable of such a thing. He told me that even considering such rubbish wouldn't help anything, and that I was to just stop. 'Whatever has happened to you, I promise, we will fix it… And whoever, whatever this thing is that did this to you, Ianto… he's gonna pay for it.' Jack's look softened and as he kissed me on the forehead he whispered, 'My IantoJones, capable of so much, so wonderful… this, this is not you. He did this to you, to your mind. He violated… your memories… and I'm so sorry this happened to you, my Ianto.' How is it that Jack can believe in me, trust in me, have faith in me… when I find it so hard to believe in myself?

Jack has pulled out the filed field report from that night, the mission with the weevils in the rain. He's shown it to me, made me re-read it. He's trying to prove to me that it was just three weevils that night. He said they're still down in the vaults and he almost dragged me down there to show them to me. Still, it wouldn't do much good, I really can't tell most weevils apart. Not enough to recognize the three from most others we're holding down there. I'm trying to sort it all out still. But it's still just so twisted-up, knotted.

* * *

Finally a night's sleep. I wouldn't call it a _good_ night's sleep, but it's better than it has been. I think that maybe everything's sorted, finally. It would seem I became a little too curious about all that had happened, found a little too much that Jack had missed. As such, the retcon had faltered, and has now failed completely. According to Jack, that's the _only_ reason the retcon failed. (Not due to the memories having any basis in truth.) My recollection of the weevil hunt has returned. No women, just weevils. I've also now remembered most of what happened while Adam was amongst us.

It's not just me, Jack remembers too. I think maybe he was made to remember some things he'd rather stay forgotten. There's a shadow in his eyes, I'd almost call it… what? Regret? I'd love nothing more than to find a way to clear that shadow from Jack's eyes. Replace those memories with ones he'd like to remember, to hold on to, memories worth keeping.

As best as I can reconstruct, it would seem that when questioned about the box, Adam altered Tosh's memory to include a relationship between them. As a distraction. God, couldn't he find something else to divert her? He had no right. What if I'd been the one to ask about the box? Would he have just done the same to me? Made me forget Jack and me? Could I be made to forget Jack and me? Frightening as these questions are, more pressing right now… should we tell Tosh? What he did… what was done to her… was that with consent, or not? Giving someone false memories, making them feel… Tosh has the right to know, but would she _want_ to know? I'll talk to Jack first; see what he wants to do about it. But I really don't think Tosh would want to know. She thought she was in love at the time… that they'd been together for a year… what if they weren't safe? Could he? Maybe she really does need to know.

In any case, this whole… situation has left us with a problem. Adam existed in our memories, on our memories. The plan to retcon him away only works while the retcon works. Once that failed… he returned. Not so smug when he showed up this time to a Hub with just Jack and myself. And the fact that we were ready for him. To say this Adam creature is so persistent in telling us we can't shoot him, he seems awfully wary of Jack's pistol. He's now in the deepest vault, the lowest level. The darkest, most desolate chamber in the whole base, alone. Jack and I have installed additional security with failsafe measures and posted some rather sinister looking contamination hazard warnings. Just to be sure, Jack's had me call everyone else and tell them not to come in tomorrow while we get all this taken care of properly this time. Right now, only Jack and I know about Adam, we have to keep it that way. I asked Jack why we didn't try the retcon again. Now that we've been more careful in clearing the evidence, it should work. Shouldn't it? Jack didn't like the idea. He said that it was too risky, now I had my proper memories back, he wouldn't risk messing with them again, not unless it was a last resort.

I finally found Jgem'a. Apparently Adam had locked her in the vaults. She's so small, not like she's easy to spot in the best of circumstances. When I moved to release the door, she was desperate, literally bouncing off the walls. Once the cell was open she was out and climbing me like I was some sort of ladder. I held out my hand and she sat on my palm, staring into my eyes. Jgem'a was signing so quickly I could hardly keep up, 'What did it do to you? Do you remember? Are you… you?' I told her I was fine, that we'd captured him and that he couldn't get loose. Later I spoke with Jack about it. We figured that the reason Adam wasn't completely gone/dead was possibly because Jgem'a remembered him. Her single memory wasn't enough for him to form a corporeal body again, but had been enough to hold him somewhere in the void until he was brought back by Jack's and my memories and investigation. We ran some tests, Jack and I. We can't retcon Jgem'a as it'd kill her. I won't allow that and Jack didn't ask. So, as such, our limited options are now down to one. Looks like we'll be keeping him in vaults for now, alive.

* * *

It was nice once the decision was made that Adam would stay alive, but out of 'touching range,' that left Jack and I the rest of today to clear things up without interruption. Funny, how quiet the Hub is when it's just us. Funny, in a nice way. We were a little more thorough with the evidence this time, assuring that the rest of the team shouldn't have to deal with this any more. I popped round to Gwen's with the pretext of needing her expenses log signed. While I helped Rhys in the kitchen with some tea, I made sure to put the retcon in his mug only. Jack had sent me with two, just in case it became 'problematic.' Instead I told Gwen that we'd sorted the whole two days thingy, and it required Rhys to forget a bit. I could tell she was about to protest, but she just stared at me for a moment before smiling and saying, 'Okay, Ianto. I trust you.'

When I mentioned to Jack that I felt awkward telling Gwen, but that I was glad she hadn't resisted, he just smiled. I asked him why he was smiling at me like that and he just grinned. I could feel myself frowning. Then Jack laughed and said that he wasn't surprised. That he truly believed that I was the only person he knew that the others trust so implicitly, especially Gwen. I frowned and thought about a night about a year ago where trust had almost spelled disaster. I think Jack could see what I was thinking, because he took me in his arms and pulled me close, 'Time's a funny thing, IantoJones. In fact, time was, I didn't trust anyone. Not really. Since I first met you, I've come to realize… Let's just say I know you now. I trust you, maybe more than anyone in a very long time. I know that you always try to do the right thing. And maybe because of that, sometimes I trust you more than I trust myself.'

* * *

I asked Jack how long Adam would survive if we didn't think about him, down all alone in the vaults. If maybe it wasn't just a little too cruel, if it wasn't maybe the equivalent of starving a prisoner to death, to leave him all alone. Jack just frowned. After a moment he said that as far as he was concerned, Adam deserved it. I wasn't really happy with that, and told him so. Then I asked him if he wanted me to weld the door to that section shut. Jack looked at me with that tilted-to-the-side expression for quite a while before replying, 'You really don't like just leaving him, do you?' No, not really. 'But you'll do it?' Yes. 'Okay.' What's okay? 'You can visit him. Occasionally. But no touching!' Yeah, as if I actually wanted to touch him. 'I better not find you down there at all hours. Cos if you've got that much spare time, I can find ways for you to fill it.' I bet you can, Jack.

At least it all seems sorted now. Still, there is a bright side to all this. In the end, we never did have to listen to Gwen tell us all about her week in Paris.

Tosh just arrived, brought down a bunch of flowers that was being delivered up at the Tourist Office. A rather large and impressive arrangement. I was happy to see Owen's expression. While it was mostly a frowning glare of 'I didn't send Tosh those either, don't even accuse me of it' there was also a clear hint of, 'Just who the hell is sending Tosh all these flowers?' There's hope for them yet.

Turns out the flowers weren't for Tosh. They were for Jack. The card was unsigned and just said, 'Thanks for _everything_!!!! xxx' The team has spent the better part of the morning glaring daggers at Jack on my behalf. Jack has spent the better part of the morning sending surreptitious glances my way. I don't know what he's expecting. Probably hoping I'll be beside myself with jealousy and accuse him of cheating, that I'll at least look cross, pout, cry, or some combination of the lot. I might too, if I didn't know full well that Jack's sent those flowers to himself.

Jack had me find him a vase for his flowers. I did them up properly and carefully, cutting the stems at an angle and all. Jack's put the flowers right in the center of his desk, so that he fairly disappears behind them when he sits down. I find it amusing that he thinks I wouldn't recognize his writing on the card. It's not like he hasn't had me forge his writing for him so many times before. I could have written it. Could have come up with a better, more jealousy-inspiring message while I was at it, too.

It's starting to get a little sad. Jack is so disappointed that no one is reacting over his flowers anymore. To stop Gwen's well-meaning but distracting tirade down in the archives, I told her that the reason I wasn't upset was because I knew for a fact that Jack had sent the flowers to himself. I didn't think she'd ever stop laughing. I had to make her promise not to tell Jack that she knew. Unfortunately I failed to extend that request to the rest of the team. As such, Gwen ran right up and told both Tosh and Owen. Now Jack is no longer upset that his team is glaring at him, he's upset that his team is looking at him and trying really hard not to laugh.

Tonight Jack'll be spending the night at mine. I need him to spend the night. Now I just have to work out a plan to get him to agree.

* * *

Well, wasn't too hard to get Jack to consent to go home with me last night. It didn't take long at all, to develop the proper plan. My plan, that evolved so successfully, ran something like this: Step 1) Wait until everyone else has gone for the evening. Step 2) Re-route Rift Monitor to Jack's wrist strap. Step 3) Loosen tie by 5cm. Step 4) Loose the jacket and roll shirt sleeves up to just below elbows. Step 5) Enter Jack's office and lean back against door frame with hands in pockets. Step 6) Wait for Jack to notice and look up before speaking. Step 7) Smile. Step 8) Forget steps 9 through 20 of the plan, and allow Jack to move hastily from behind desk, grabbing both his coat and you on the way to the door as he says, 'IantoJones, you and me at yours, NOW.'

So as the plan, abbreviated as it was, was a success Jack is now finishing his shower and breakfast will soon be ready. After breakfast we'll be heading in to work together. Then, when we get to the door to the Tourist Office at precisely 7am, we should conveniently run right into the person delivering the flowers. As Jack obviously feels that he needs to receive rather large and impressive flower arrangements, I've sent him the most dazzlingly gorgeous arrangement in all of Wales.


	44. The Colour Purple

We found what Owen claims is an alien medical device. He always claims it's an alien medical device. (Probably so he can assure that he's the first one who gets to play with it, just in case it's anything good.) By my reckoning, he's declared 32 artifacts as 'medical' in the last six months alone. Of those 32, Owen has been correct in his assumption… hmmm… well, while the exact figure escapes me, it is certainly much less than once. Looking at it another way, the law of averages says that eventually he'll be right. (Probably round 'bout the time those monkeys turn in their final draft of Hamlet.)

Jack had the idea that it was time for some Torchwood team building. His idea? I don't think he'd gotten that far in the planning stages. He looked rather blankly at me for a moment. Then he grinned. It was that angular grin that never leads to good things. I felt my jaw clench and willed him not to say it, but he did: 'Karaoke.' Oh no, not again. I shut my eyes, tight. 'Ianto.' "Jack." 'What? Not karaoke? Have you got a better idea?' As a matter of fact, I did. It'd just take a couple of days to set it up.

Thinking again of words that begin to sound strange with repetition. There's another… couple. I don't have another couple of words. Just the one, the actual word: couple. Not that I've been thinking about couples, being a couple. It just seems, everywhere I go, there's that word. Like it's following me. Couple. Give me a _couple_ of minutes. I'd like a _couple_ of those fillets, please. What's that on telly tonight, re-runs of _Coupling_? Jack even asked if I'd gotten around to changing that power interchange relay _coupler_ today. Of course he said it with that leer and a pronounced emphasis on 'coupler.' He even went on to say that, if I was free tonight, he'd like to work on some power interchange with me, if I fancied some coupling-up. Hmmmm. Where was I? Oh yeah… the word couple. I wonder really, are we a couple? Jack and I? In lots of ways, it feels like we are, but it all seems so… impossible. Jack and I. Us. I know we have a relationship, of sorts… but what sort? I shouldn't say that I know. I feel. I feel like we have a relationship, but what does Jack think? I'm pretty sure that I mean something to him, even something special. But would he ever… ever consider us a _couple_? I don't know if I could handle that, if he did. Honestly, I think that would be too astonishing to contemplate.

* * *

Owen's having trouble believing I played rugby back in school. 'C'mon Ianto… But you're pretty… and your neck isn't wider than your head. You can't tell me you played rugby. And, and, and you still have all your teeth! You sure it wasn't cricket you played?' CRICKET!?! Really Owen, sometimes your insults just go too far.

* * *

How can we possibly be out of paperclips, again?

* * *

Right. Team building exercise. You have no one to blame but yourself, Jones. You could have just gone to Jack's karaoke night. So anyway, we arrived at UNIT's Tactical Warfare Arena for Tinted Simulation. One would think that an organization, whose own name was an acronym of sorts, would have thought that one out a little more thoroughly. TWATS, really? What it lacked in proper naming, however, it made-up for in sheer size. I'd seen paintball fields near Cardiff, but they were mostly the size of a rugby pitch, a few hay bales or tarps strewn about… This, this was different. I was pretty sure there were a few principalities in the EU that weren't this big. Since when did paintball include trucks? At this point, I wouldn't be all that surprised if UNIT showed-up with a tank, or something.

It didn't take long to begin regretting setting this whole thing up. It wasn't that UNIT had chosen 30 of it's finest to take on the five of us. (Torchwood fights most of its battles greatly outnumbered. Quality, not quantity, right?) It wasn't that the UNIT team looked like they'd been doing this their entire lives. It wasn't even when I saw that the soldiers, in looking us over, sizing us up, had looked at me and immediately dismissed me as any kind of threat. What made me regret being here? The fact that my own team, after all this time, seemed to immediately dismiss me as any kind of asset. As Jack, Owen and Gwen huddled over the map, planning Torchwood's strategy, it seemed Tosh and I had been designated 'cannon fodder' status.

Jack and Owen were debating who would drive the truck in the plan they had concocted. I tried one final time to contribute, "I did take that defensive driving course a few years back…" Owen's jaw dropped. He looked incredulously at Jack and snickered, 'We'll keep that in mind, Ianto. If we need pointers on driving slow and safe.' Jack frowned as he saw my reaction, but he didn't defend me, either. I suppose that was about the time I considered standing stock still and taking a paint pellet right from the start. For as much as I was expected to contribute, I might as well take a hit so I could get off the field and go find some coffee. Once this is over, the Torchwood team will probably be wanting refreshments.

Owen would drive the truck. Jack went on, 'Okay! Now that's set, we need someone to infiltrate the enemy bunker and take out as many of them as possible.' Owen muttered some joke about Jack's experience in taking soldiers out (on dates) that made Jack grin and me look at the gravel at my feet. Tosh jumped in (quite literally) with, 'Oh! That is so Ianto! He's so quiet, I never hear him until he's right there next to me. He'd be perfect.' She grinned at me. 'That's all well and good, Tosh, but the plan is to sneak up and shoot them, not serve them coffee and biscuits.' Owen turned to me with that half-sneering smile, 'No offence, mate.' Jack laid what I assume was meant to be a reassuring hand on my arm as he said, 'Ianto's perfection aside, I think Gwen's the soldier for this mission.' Okay. Right. Because Gwen Cooper is known for being able to be quiet and unnoticed. Some things never change. Just smile and look at the map. Pretend that your teammates' lack of confidence in you doesn't sting. Never mind. Doesn't matter.

So after all that confidence-boosting, the plan was laid out and we moved to our assignments. Tosh and I have taken-up our inane stations, protecting the Torchwood flag. Bad enough they stick me here, why Tosh? She's brilliant in the field. I didn't miss her hurt expression when she was relegated here, with me, in this, the most pointless position possible. 'No tech to help with, up at the front lines, sorry. Just stick with Ianto and make sure those UNIT bastards don't get our flag, yeah?' I'm looking at her now, hunched against a tree, examining her fingernails. I can tell she feels as redundant and unnecessary as I do, but if she can keep a stiff upper lip and accept it, I can hardly do less myself

I'm looking at the canister full of purple paint pellets attached to my gun. Is it strange that I almost feel sorry for them, having been assigned to me and destined never to see action? I feel like nothing more than suggesting to Tosh that we just accidently shoot each other in 'friendly fire' and go find that cup of coffee. We could be waiting comfortably back at the base canteen. Or the Hub, for all the good we're doing here. For all the good I ever do the team. In a quick change of strategic planning, Gwen just came to advise us that our status had been updated to 'decoy.' Brilliant.

Well, as I said, UNIT had already judged me as not a threat, so the decoy (or is that 'bait?') ploy didn't really go to plan. Well, when I say it didn't work, I should say it didn't work for Torchwood… Did wonders for UNIT. Splitting us up into less defensible positions, this has no doubt pleased UNIT no end.

I could hear Jack's shouts to the north of us, 'But that's not fair! I can't die. This shouldn't count.' There went our fearless leader from the game. Wonder if there'll be any power struggle going on between Owen and Gwen as to who's in command now.

Apparently not. One of the referees has just come by to gloat. Owen's been captured and is screaming-up a storm. Gwen's still on the loose, but she took off running… rather the wrong way. Team Torchwood has been 'decimated' and has only been able to take out a total of four from Team UNIT. Tried telling the referee that by definition, she's meant to be neutral. She laughed, and with a smirk that was decidedly reminiscent of the late great Jack Harkness, she whispered a suggestion in my ear that was decidedly less than neutral.

After thanking her, but indicating that I was… involved, I set to thinking. Visualizing the field map, there had to be a way. Team Torchwood's second vehicle, an ancient Range Rover suspiciously missing its roof, was parked to my left. I ran through the rules of the game in my head. The vehicles were wired to respond to hits, just as the players were. If the Rover were hit, it'd stall, leaving me defenseless. I considered the missing roof. (The battered vehicle looked like it had once been driven under a particularly low bridge.) Not much protection for the driver. There was no guarantee it would even start. If I tried, and it didn't, the UNIT troops would be on me in moments. 'You've got that look.' Tosh's soft voice echoed to my right. What look? Nausea? 'What's the plan, Ianto?' I looked at her and she just smiled.

Ah well, _audentes fortuna juvat_, right? Time to try being bold, and maybe, just maybe, I'd be fortunate. One way or the other, if nothing else at least it'd all be over soon. I detailed my plan, secretly praying that Tosh wouldn't feel bad that I was asking her to, once again, act as decoy. In the end, she grinned, 'We should have just done that in the first place. Are your driving skills up to it? One shot and I'm left behind, all alone.' I told her that we'd soon find out how much I remembered from that defensive driving course, and how much of it would transfer to this situation. As I stood and helped her up from where we'd been crouched I added, "And you know I'd never leave you all alone, Tosh." I guess I'm not the only one who still has problems with maintaining eye contact, but she smiled, 'You can do this, Ianto. I know you can.' Well, that made one of us.

Amazingly enough, the Rover started on just the second try. It's odd how enjoyable driving can be when you don't have to be concerned with rules of the road, other vehicles, pedestrians, or roads. It wasn't long before the paint pellets were flying all around me. I spun the wheel, shifted into reverse and did a J-turn that left me driving backwards, and free to fire at my pursuers. As I spun back to driving forwards again (there is something to be said for watching where you're going, after all) I could hear what seemed to be an absurdly ridiculous about of laughter. At first I assumed UNIT found me amusing, but it soon dawned on me, the laughter, it was me. By the time I was unable to avoid a pellet to the Rover's engine block that brought my ride to an end, I was completely out of breath. I'm not sure if it was the adrenaline, the laughter, or a combination of the two, but I was pumped.

I imagined the field map and compared it to the terrain around me. I was close, but so were the rest of the UNIT soldiers. So I ran. Leaving the cover of the disabled Rover, I headed through the forest towards the enemy's home base. I felt a paint pellet clip my ear, but it didn't break, so I kept running. There, just ahead, a tent like the one I'd been assigned to guard.

I dove into the room, spiraling onto my back and firing behind me as I went. Purple paint splattered against the black of the UNIT uniforms, the buzzing sound of fatal shots being registered all around me. I waited for the inevitable vibration in my own uniform, the locking of my gun to tell me that I'd taken a terminal hit. None came. I lay on my back in the centre of the room and continued to fire at anything black that wasn't already awash with purple. Out of breath I scanned the room for targets. Nothing. Nothing, that is, but a crowd of UNIT soldiers cussing and brushing at the pigment on their chests. I stood and looked around at their expressions, noting with a sigh that most of them registered absolute disbelief. Seems I'd been right earlier, they had been talking about me before the game began. Fine. Doesn't matter. I stepped to the table and plucked the UNIT flag from its holder. It was reflex to say it, "Thanks." Only polite. I immediately hoped it hadn't come across as cocky. As I headed for the door I heard the first chuckle. I felt my shoulders tense. The others joined in, the room soon ringing with peals of laughter. But when I turned to look back at them, their expressions weren't derisive. They weren't laughing at the absurd Torchwood tea-boy in urban fatigues, they were really smiling. 'Bloody fucking brilliant!' 'No wonder there's only five of them. They don't need any more.' And finally, 'Good luck, Torchie.' I smiled and nodded once before heading back out. By my calculations, there were still four UNIT soldiers left out there, and it'd only take one.

Hoping that Tosh, against ridiculous odds, had managed to accomplish her part of the plan, I set out straight for Central Command. As I ran I couldn't help but think that it felt a bit like being a little kid again, playing with Rhiannon in the park. Who would of thought, back then, that I'd end up here? Like this? Well, there was little enough time for any of that. This was here and now… and it was all up to me. I thought about running low, zigzagging, being stealthy and covert. I still didn't know if our own flag had been taken yet. The only way to win would be to be the first to get back. As such, I just ran. Sprinted, full out, fast as I could. The forest seemed to stretch for miles. I ran. Kept running. I heard a sound, something like cheering from up ahead, and worried that I was too late, that UNIT was already celebrating their victory. I'd been too slow, not good enough. I could feel the strength in my legs start to fail, just like I had failed. As I felt myself start to stumble, an absurd thought struck and I took a moment to look on the bright side: if the game was over, at least I'd managed to make it through with a relatively clean uniform. It was more than most of the opposition could say (if, that was, they even cared about such things.) I didn't fall. I ran. I thought about ways I could make it up to the team, maybe down at the pub. I thought about how Owen would have enough ammunition to tease me 'til the end of the universe. I thought my lungs would burst. But I never stopped running. The Central Command tent was just up ahead. It dawned on me, as I threw myself through the tent flaps, what a right git I'd look, throwing myself in there, if the game had actually already ended ten minutes ago. I slid to a stop in the centre of the tent, UNIT flag clutched tight in my outstretched hand. Panting, I rolled over and opened my eyes.

There, surrounding me and staring down, the combined UNIT and Torchwood teams. "Am I too late?" I wheezed. Jack offered me a hand up. As he pulled me to my wobbly feet and into an embrace, he grinned, 'You have never been late for anything in your entire life, IantoJones. What makes you think you're late now?' "Did…" I found it hard to ask, but I had to know. "Did we win?" '_**WE**_ didn't win, Tea-boy.' Owen grimaced. '_**YOU**_ fuckin won it for us!' Before I knew it, Owen had gathered me into a rather crushing embrace, before ruffling my hair and then giving me a shove, 'Made the rest of us look like a right lot of wankers.' The Captain in command of the UNIT team strode up and stared at me intently, 'Think how he made _us_ feel. Thought we had you. I was _sure_ we had you. Fifteen on one… and still. Unreal. Simply amazing. UNIT could use someone like you.' He offered his hand in congratulations, but before I could shake it, Jack batted it away, 'He's mine. Torchwood's. You go find your own.' As Jack started to usher me away, followed by the rest of the team, the UNIT Captain called, 'Who is he? What's his position with you?' I tensed in fear of just how Jack might answer that second question when Owen called back, 'He's Ianto Jones, mate. And he's our tea-boy.'

Here at the pub afterwards, no one's let me buy a single round. Owen asked me about that defensive driving course. Apparently he thought it was one of those ones done by the Automobile Association, or something. I explained that the class I'd taken was a little different. Its _defensive_ driving… for diplomatic chauffeurs and body guards. Run by ex-secret service and MI-6. Owen's never said that I deserve an action figure… until now. Furthermore, he went on to tell me that they need to do a radio controlled Torchwood van, which would come complete with a 'Kick-arse Action Tea-boy Driver.'

Tonight, I think Jacks gottn me just a little bits drunk. I was just telling him that he should know by now that he doesn't need to get me drunk. He can come home with me, anytime. He said thaz not why he was doing it. See!!!! I said he'd gotten me drunk on porpoise… Purpose… Propose… Words aren't working right tonight. Intentionally. Jack meant to get me drunk, intentionally. Anyways, I said to him that he could come home with me, without the bear. Beer. And he said, he said something strange to that, that he'd done it for a different reason. Even with a half dozen (or has it been more??) Brains… Brians… Brains? Which one's the beer? Where was I? Oh yep, that's it, Jack's reason… Jack said he wanted me to relax, enjoy tonight, out with the team. He said victory was all down to me, again (???) and that he wanted me to enjoy it for once. He thinks the only ways I'd ever take credit is if I'm drunk. Told him that's all good and fine, but I'm still going to be the one with the hangover at work in the morning.

* * *

For what may be the first time, I can really, truly appreciate something that has come through the Rift. Jack has a hang-over cure that is simply amazing. Asked him if I should leave a dose on Owen's desk and he just laughed. Suppose he's right. The world is a little safer if Owen never learns of its existence. The threat of the morning after is probably the only thing to have kept Owen's liver safe this long.

Set up a telly in Adam's cell for him so he has something to do while he's there all alone. Thoroughly tested it first to make sure that it doesn't provide him with anything he needs to gain power or escape. That's all we need, a repeat of that situation.

After I came back from my rounds of the vaults I made the coffees and headed to the conference room for the morning meeting. I was the last one there, never a comfortable feeling. As I entered with the tray I noticed the team was staring intently at the monitor on the wall behind me. 'That is so not possible…' Gwen squinted. 'Run it back again.' Tosh keyed the remote, 'I know. It's just like an action movie… but it's real, not special effects.' I set the tray on the table and turned to see what held my teammates so enthralled. It was the CCTV coverage of the paintball war, I watched myself as I drove through the forest, laughing so very loudly as I navigated a near hair-pin turn without seeming to slow down. It seemed completely unreal as the screen cut to me running flat out, diving head-long into the command tent. I looked to Jack at the end of the table, his face set in an impossibly wide grin, 'UNIT sent it over for me this morning.'

'But you don't like guns!' Owen squeaked as Tosh rewound the CCTV, again. In slow motion I flew through the air with a primal scream, firing as I spun. 'You never shoot anyone… well, except me.' He flashed that sincerely insincere smile and I thought that maybe he had finally forgiven me. The team was still staring at the UNIT soldiers splattered in purple paint. Jack appeared at my side, 'So, you been holding out on me?' I raised an eyebrow and Jack had the decency to _almost_ blush. 'I meant, since when did my… Junior Field Agent… turn into an action hero? I mean, I know you're great on the firing range…' Here he paused and I could see the inappropriate remark forming behind Jack's eyes. I flashed him a quick glare and he continued with a smirk, 'But this?' I shrugged. How could I tell him, explain that I didn't really understand where it came from either? I didn't need to explain. Tosh stood up, 'Don't any of you get it? The team needed him… and it's paintball…' Everyone looked at her. 'It's non-lethal.' She paused, waiting for comprehension. 'Come on, you've all seen Ianto with a stun-gun, haven't you? Same thing.'

* * *

Last night was significantly quieter than the one before. Jack and I at my flat, alone. He disappeared into my kitchen and returned with popcorn and a couple of bottles of SA. "Not trying to get me drunk again, are you?" Jack did that look, the mock worry, 'You said I wouldn't have to, that I could just-' I told him to just shut up and sit down. He grinned at that, 'Hmmm, forceful Ianto. I like that. We could always skip the movie tonight. Couldn't we?' "Depends on the movie." Jack grinned and wagged a disc at me, 'Brought over my new all-time favourite.' I caught a glimpse. It was the DVD sent from UNIT. Please no. Jack nipped my ear, 'Only thing it's missing is some full frontal nudity. Hey! It's a re-writable disc… what do ya say we add some?' Two diverting hours later and the disc never did make it into the player (But at least it never made it into the recorder, either.) And I'm not complaining. I will complain, however, that we were unfortunately interrupted by a Rift alert transferred to Jack's wrist strap. As such, after an apparently pointless trip back to the Hub, it all turned out to be pretty much nothing. Rather than drive home again, we're just staying here. But that's okay, here is where Jack is.

Owen's had what he considers to be a stunning idea. He wants me to go on "_Who Wants to be a Millionaire?_" He reckons that if there's an answer that I somehow don't know, one of the team should be able to nail it with 'phone a friend.' Hopefully this'll be like most of Owen's brilliant schemes, quickly forgotten.

Jack called me into his office just now. There was something in his voice… a certain slightly terrifying tenseness. (Is tenseness even a word?) Anyway, I wasn't the only one to sense it. I could see Owen poke his head up from the autopsy bay and as I started towards the steps I'm sure I heard him say (in a disturbing sing-song voice) 'Looks like somebody's in trouble… and for once, it isn't me.' Tosh looked at me and mouthed, 'What happened?' I shrugged, trying to look like nothing was wrong. I hoped nothing was wrong. Was something wrong? If there was something wrong, wouldn't I know about it? I could actually feel my heart begin to race as I walked, willing my pace to remain constant. Eye contact and smile as Gwen reached out to put what I assume was meant to be a reassuring hand on my arm as I passed. There was no teasing about Jack calling me in for… well, you know… no mentions of those, 'Is that what we're calling it now' jokes or anything. I entered Jack's office, pausing only to knock on the doorframe. Jack didn't look up. I cleared my throat. No response. "Jack… You wanted to see me?" After another pause, I added "Sir?" God, why was Jack still not looking at me?

The last few days raced though my mind. What in heaven could I have done wrong? He didn't seem cross when he finally said to come in. I moved to the centre of the room, and briefly contemplated taking my usual seat on the edge of his desk. Jack still hadn't raised his head, but continued writing in the file open in front of him. Several moments passed. I waited. I looked at that bit of coral on Jack's desk and wondered briefly if it had actually grown a bit. I waited. I glanced out the window and into the Hub. My teammates remained at their stations, but were all still looking directly back at me. I nodded at them and returned my gaze to Jack. "Sir?" I ventured again. His only response was a raised left index finger to indicate _just a minute_ as he furiously continued to write. I briefly, nervously, mused that at least it wasn't a different finger (or two.) I waited. Jack exhaled noisily, closed the file and moved it to the top of a stack of similar folders at the corner of his desk. He then promptly… didn't look up. Opening the next folder that had been under the last, he glanced at it before finally speaking. 'Ianto, there's something I need to tell you.' My mind didn't so much race with fearful possibilities, as stall completely flat. Jack, however, didn't take long before continuing, 'There was this girl.' I closed my eyes and swallowed. 'In the time… when I was with the Doctor.' I forced myself to open my eyes, but could now only look at the ceiling. 'Before you think entirely the wrong thing…' Too late. 'I want you to know that nothing happened between us. Ever.' I managed to look back at Jack again, but he was still gazing at the new file, just as intently as he had its predecessor. 'And it's really not like that, anyway, between Martha and me. We went through a lot together, but only ever as friends. I wanted you to know that. Need for you to understand that and for it to be completely clear. Okay?' "Ummm, okay, Jack. Is there a specific reason you need me to understand and be completely clear… at this particular moment?' 'Well, I don't want you to think that Martha and I had that kind of history.' "Okay, but why now?" 'Oh. Right. She'll be coming to give us a hand on those bodies Owen's been looking into. Didn't I mention that?' "Not until just now, no." 'Oh. Well, she's Medical Director with UNIT and they've been working on what could be the same case. Thought maybe we should liaise.' "Liaise." Jack almost looked up at the tone in my voice, but seemed to catch himself, 'See! That is exactly why I wanted to tell you about all this _before_ she arrived. So you wouldn't think like that.' "It's just the way you said it." 'I know. I can't help it, I really can't.' "I know, trust me, I know. Was that all?" 'Yeah, that was pretty much it.' I turned and headed for the door. I noticed that, at the lack of screaming or crying or the like coming from the office, my teammates had lost interest and turned back to their work. I leaned against the doorframe and asked Jack, "Was there… anything else? Coffee or something?" Jack stared down at the folder, his hands acting as blinders focusing his attention downwards, 'Reading my mind, as always, IantoJones. Coffee would be perfect, thanks.' "Guess I'm not reading your mind completely… When's she arriving, this only-ever-a-friend of yours? Martha, was it?" Jack laughed, 'Tomorrow. Can you take care of the arrangements?' "As always." I'd turned to the door again when I heard Jack continue, 'I don't deserve you, you know?' I smiled, but didn't look back, "True enough, but you can keep trying and maybe one day you will."

Just as I exited the door, I had to pause and lean back in, "Jack…" 'Yeah, Ianto?' "Why won't you look at me? Are you cross? Did I… do something wrong?" Jack paused in his writing and, still looking at his desk, I could see him start to grin, 'No, Ianto. Nothing wrong. Nothing at all.' I tried to keep the panic from my voice, "Then why… why won't you look at me?" I could see him laughing now. Staring intently at the file on his desk, but clearly laughing. "Jack?" 'You wanna know, really?' I could feel myself holding my breath. 'You're wearing purple.' "Purple," I blinked. I blinked again, "You're refusing to look at me… because I'm wearing a purple shirt?" 'Pretty much, yeah.' "Jack, I think that needs just a little more explaining." 'Well, you told me this morning, that if I expected to take you out to dinner tonight, I'd better get all these reports cleared from my desk before six. Remember?' "Yes, I remember." 'Well, that was fine. Then you went on to say that I had to get the reports really cleared, not just shoved into a drawer or something…' "Yes Jack, not like last time." 'Right, so… That was fine too. Until, of course, you came back from your shower this morning… dressed like… well, _that._' "You've got a problem… with what I'm wearing?" 'NO! Well, yes… but only if I'm expected to get any work done. I mean, I know if I look at you… it's over. Nothing else's gettin' done until… well until-' "Right. Okay, I get the idea." 'As it is, just having seen you earlier… Just having that mental image is hard enough. Oh. Hey! Speaking of hard enough…' "Jack!" 'Ianto…' "I'm just going to leave you to finish those files, then shall I?" 'Right, although we really could just-' "Work to do. I'll be back at six, then okay?" 'Right.' Having not looked up once, Jack stared pointedly at the file before him and his pen resumed scratching furiously away. I made my way to the steps outside his office door and as my foot hovered above them I heard, 'Oh and Ianto, don't you dare change for dinner.' Wouldn't dream of it.

Once it was ready, I made sure to ask Tosh to take Jack his coffee. Couldn't risk the distraction. For some reason, I'm really looking forward to dinner with Jack tonight. In fact, I'm seriously contemplating accidentally taking the Rift Alerts off line. Anyway, after leaving Jack's office, as I made my way over to my station, an IM popped up on the screen. Tosh asking what was wrong. I glanced up to see Owen's head looking at me expectantly from the depths of the autopsy bay, as well as Gwen making bug-eyes at me. I momentarily contemplated hanging my head and fleeing down to the archives or up to the Tourist Office, just to take the mick, as it were. Instead I IMd Tosh back: "Jack likes my shirt, apparently." A moment later another message: _All that, over your shirt???!!! _I typed back: "What? Don't you like the shirt? What's wrong with it?" It seemed only a second or two before: _No, love the shirt, especially with that tie… You were just in there an awfully long time. _I'd just started to type a reply when a new message binged, this time from Owen: _U sure thats all that happened Tboy? U seemed 2 B in there 4 long enuf._ I couldn't help it, I typed before I lost my nerve: "Well, after Jack complemented my clothes, we still had to discuss upcoming ways to make your life difficult, Owen. 'Living Hell' doesn't just happen without planning, you know." Over Tosh's laughter I heard the clatter and squelch of Owen dropping a tray of something messy. I'm not cleaning that up.


	45. A Moment in Time

Found a box in Jack's office. It was jammed, literally, under his desk. After forcibly yanking it out I left it on top of the desk and waited until Jack returned from getting ready for dinner. 'Well don't you look comfortable?' Jack appeared from the portal all cleaned-up and looking… really good. "So you're back to looking at me again, are you?" I asked without moving from where I was sitting in Jack's chair, feet up on his desk. He smiled (that _really_ seductive one) and advised me that, as it had now gone 6pm, he didn't plan on stopping looking at me until we both fell into an 'exhausted and sweaty sleep sometime very late tonight.' I asked if he'd finished all of his paperwork. 'Amazingly, yes. Funny what the proper motivation can prompt me to achieve,' Jack grinned. I smiled. Jack's grin grew wider. I asked him about the box, if it needed to go in the archives, or if it was private should I jam it back under the desk? Jack didn't remember what it was and asked me what was in it. As if I would open a box hidden under his desk without his permission, I frowned at him. He just smiled and shook his head, 'Just open it, IantoJones.' For a moment I worried, what if it's something dangerous that should be in the vault? Or something private, that Jack wouldn't want me to see? Jack seemed unconcerned, however, so I opened the box.

Mostly bits of rubbish. A handful of paperclips. A broken pencil. Lint. It looked like someone had cleaned out a desk drawer by simply dumping it out, unsorted, into the box. Keeping in mind Jack's ideas on cleaning, I imagine that was exactly what had happened. I put on the most disapproving look I could manage without laughing, but before I could say a word we were interrupted by the phone. As Jack frowned an apology and went to answer it, I continued to dig through the box. Hidden in the bottom was a canister of film, exposed, but not developed. I held it up and Jack just shrugged. Jack put his hand over the phone and advised me it was the PM, could I see about moving the dinner reservations back an hour? I'd barely stood up when Jack slid into the chair and assumed exactly the same position I'd vacated. So, after phoning the restaurant I had some time to kill. Didn't want to do any tidying up as Jack had made it abundantly clear he didn't want me to change out of my purple shirt for dinner. I thought about the canister of film I was still holding. Shrugging, I headed for the darkroom.

I really like developing film. So much more tactile than transferring files to a computer and hitting print. Sure it's more work, but it just feels more… real. The process and procedure. The art as much as the science of it. Plus, proper photos are harder to manipulate. Genuine. All pictures capture a moment in time. Developing the film, it allows that moment to be savored a bit longer.

The pictures are done and hanging to dry. Mostly nothing. Evidence shots from cases long closed. A few were from last year's defrosting of Tommy Brockless. I put those aside for Tosh, in case she'd like to have them one day. I was looking at the last one when I sensed someone looking over my shoulder. Even if we weren't the only ones in the Hub, I could have guessed, from proximity alone, that it was Jack. 'Torchwood team photos, huh?' Well, the most recent one, anyway. It's been a while. Jack took the photo from me, 'Suzie always looked that serious, didn't she?' Pretty much. 'This was _after_ last year's defrosting? It's the official team photo, Ianto. Why aren't you in it?' Images of pub nights and basketball games immediately came to mind. Things I'd really thought I'd gotten over long ago. "But I wasn't really on the team back then, was I? Not a field agent… and someone had to take the picture didn't they?" Jack just put his arms around me and rested his chin on the top of my head, sighing. I wrapped my arms around his, giving a squeeze, "I thought you were taking me to dinner. Or did I wear purple for nothing?"

* * *

Dinner last night was nothing short of amazing. Even though he knows how much it usually annoys me, Jack ordered for both of us. I think the proper term would be: Sparing no expense. In fact he later mentioned that he didn't intend on letting me order the second cheapest chicken dish on the menu, ever again. (But I like chicken.) Anyway, I let Jack do his best to spoil me, and I have to admit, I really rather enjoyed it. There was no debate as to where to spend the night as Jack just drove us straight back to my flat after a walk through the park. There is something about Jack that allows me to feel, that just for the moment, I am the only thing in his Universe. I have never felt so special.

When I returned from the kitchen with the bottle opener, Jack was keying something into his wrist strap. In response to my raised eyebrows Jack replied, 'Weevil sighting near the transit warehouse.' I had moved to gather both our coats, "It's been a while, since we went Weevil hunting together." When I turned and held the coat for Jack to slip into it, he took it from me and hung it back up. Then he had taken mine and hung it along side his own. 'I've already called Owen to cover it. Tonight it's just me and you… No interruptions. '

So no new Weevil in the vaults this morning, but a new body is down in autopsy waiting on Owen. While chasing the Weevil, Owen and Tosh instead found a guy in the warehouse last night. He (Owen, not the dead guy) thinks it might be related to the others found recently. (As it is, I have no idea what the dead guy thinks. We'd need another risen mitten for that and… well, that is just not a good idea.) So this morning I'm headed for the archives for some much needed catch-up filing.

Owen is really avoiding doing that autopsy for some reason. The smelliest, slimiest, scariest alien, he will cut into with glee. Poor guy who seems to have died from toxic shock gets to wait. Right now, even as I'm writing, Owen has me cornered in the class D section and is questioning me about Jack's wardrobe. Owen, with his seemingly endless collection of odd, obscure printed shirts and leather jackets, wants to know why Jack only has three shirts.

Okay, I will admit that Jack has, at best, a limited wardrobe. It isn't like he doesn't have lots of shirts, loads really. They're just all mostly exactly the same, one of three choices. There's blue/ dark; blue/ light; and green/ bloody awful. (Seriously, for as often as Jack comments that this colour or that one really suits me… he goes and wears… that! I reckon it had to have been inspired by the colour of a military hospital's walls or something.) Anyway, where was I? Oh, yes. As if that green weren't bad enough, he's taken to wearing clean shirts of the same colour, day after day, until he runs out, or finally feels the need for a change, or some other reason I've yet to decipher. (Maybe it has to do with the tides or the moon or who knows what.) In any case, he's currently in a dark blue phase, which means that green is next. It has to stop now!

So after trying my best to defend Jack's wardrobe choices to Owen, I gave up and asked what the plan was. Apparently the way Tosh saw it (where was I when all this discussion was going on?) Tosh thinks we should all do the same. If every one of us dresses the same, day after day, Jack would eventually take the hint and change. They have it all planned out and scheduled, they just need me to agree to go along with it. (God, it's true. Torchwood people really don't have lives.) I suggested that maybe I could just talk to Jack about it, but Owen accused me of not wanting to be a part of the team. I could see it was a loosing battle and agreed to participate on a limited basis if he'd just leave me alone to finish my filing.

When I returned from the archives, I was greeted by Owen's usual charm, 'It's about fuckin' time. And you say _I_ keep people waiting.' Everyone was milling around by the couch. What? Jack grinned at me, 'You started me thinking yesterday…' Well, that's never a good thing. 'We need a new team photo.' I had to agree. Gwen was here now and Suzie had been gone a while. I supposed a new photo was in order. The camera had already been set-up on a tripod and was aimed at the couch. I waited as everyone settled into place. I noticed that Tosh managed to land a spot next to Owen and had to smile. Score one for Tosh. Jack grinned, 'C'mon Ianto. Whatcha waiting for?' Right. I checked the focus and adjusted both the aperture and the focal length that Jack had chosen. Jack continued, his voice gaining that whining edge it does when he gets impatient, 'its good enough, C'mon.' He made a motion with his head, 'I've got a remote control this time. No more hiding behind the camera for you.' Oh. I see. Okay. The couch was full, so I headed around to stand to the side of it. Jack had followed my movements and just shook his head slightly, 'Nope, not good enough.' He reached out a hand towards me. Having no idea what he wanted from me, I took his hand. Before I knew what was happening, Jack had pulled me over, and around, and on top of them. When the room stopped spinning, I found myself laid out, held in Jack's arms with my legs across both Tosh and Owen. Jack announced, 'You are far too pretty to be in the background, IantoJones.' He then leant forwards and whispered into my hair, 'Too pretty and too amazing.' Then, in his usual Capt. Jack voice, he added, 'Everyone smile and say Weevil!'

Jack took several more pictures when Gwen complained that she had blinked and again when Owen had done the same on the next. Eventually everyone seemed satisfied and Jack declared the shoot 'a wrap.' Relatively painless. Untangling from my current position, however, was another matter. Gwen got up first, unencumbered as she was on her end of the couch. Owen helped Tosh out from under my legs, but Jack seemed reluctant to release me. He made a rather unseasonable joke, asking me what I wanted for Christmas. To which I replied, "Guess." Suddenly there was a flash. Tosh had removed the camera from the tripod and taken a picture of me on Jack's lap. 'Might as well use up the rest of the roll,' she grinned and snapped several more shots of Jack and me (including several of him kissing me rather inappropriately… mind you, not that I'm complaining.) Owen jumped in front and made a face (well, more than his usual, at least.) Soon the camera was handed off and Tosh was with us. Both she and I made bunny ears behind Jack. Then Gwen was there, her, Tosh, Jack and I stacked-up and making up a strange kind of totem pole. I tried to get up, take my turn at the camera, but Jack held me tight around the waist, 'Didn't I make myself clear? I want you in the forefront. Always.'


	46. Jones

Owen cornered me just now. He pulled me into a dark alcove, looking around furtively seemingly to assure that no one could see or was listening, and promptly asked me about that defensive driving course I had taken. Seems he's interested, excited even, in the thought of taking it. Thinking of the intimidatingly strict ex-MI6 instructors and their staunch refusal to take anything from anyone, I told him I'd get him the phone number. Thought that'd be the end of the conversation, but after a few steps Owen came back and asked me why I'd taken the class in the first place. There was that hint of a sneer, the unspoken, 'Why would Mr. Safe-and-boring do something that interesting?' I was just working out a sufficiently sarcastic reply when Jack walked by with a single word, 'Transporter.' I cringed, I waited, but Owen didn't say anything further. With massive amounts of luck, maybe he'll actually be kind and let the whole thing drop. Who am I kidding? Owen being kind? Never gonna happen. Okay, with massive amounts of luck, maybe he'll get distracted by something shiny and forget the whole thing. Well, at least that's possible.

As if I could ever be that lucky. Owen is a twat. Of course he wouldn't let it drop. The middle of lunch, Owen waits until I've just taken a bite of kung pao chicken before asking, 'So Jack, what's all this with Teaboy and _The Transporter_?' I begged Jack with my eyes, like I've never begged him for anything before. He paused, as if considering, then grinned and launched into it with the same enthusiasm he usually reserves for his most inappropriate stories. As I slowly turned the colour of a pomegranate, Jack explained to the entire team, in finite detail (some of it blatantly embellished,) his opinions of my apparent obsession with the film _The Transporter_. I tried to sink under the table, fade into my chair, pretend it was some other Ianto, but nothing worked. Still Gwen kept flashing me that grin, and Owen that condescending sneer. Wasn't it time for a change of subject, really? The subject, however, never did change, not really. It did finally, thankfully, shift. The focus moved from me to the film itself and its sequels, which Jack advised the team, 'Ianto didn't like nearly as much.' Owen caught a tangent and rode it out, waxing philosophic on 'the brilliant costuming choices for the bad girl in the second film… ya know… the lack thereof, and all.' Ah yes, our Owen, always the consummate professional. As I said, at least I was no longer the focus. It was then that Tosh gave me the last of her egg rolls and whispered, 'That's why you chose the Audi, isn't it?' She knows me so well.

After all this time, why can I still not read Owen? After all that, when lunch was finished and I'd cleared everything away, he cornered me again in the stairwell as I headed up to the Tourist Office. I feared the condescension that would drip as he brought up my choice of action film. Nope. He wanted to ask me about that pool tournament again. (Suppose he really likes the idea.) In any case, he wanted to make sure that I remembered that I'd promised to be his partner. Did I? I don't recall ever agreeing to that. In any case, I said okay, but I also told Owen once and for all, that the whole thing was just Tosh asking him out. Owen still isn't so sure.

While I am inordinately glad that Jack felt the need (desire? disposition? obligation?) to advise me in advance of Martha's arrival, I have to admit, I wasn't quite prepared for her appearance. Maybe it was the name, Martha. It is a little out of fashion and I suppose I'm guilty of some assumptions. Namely that she would be a lovely but elderly woman with grey hair, and a bun. I was definitely expecting a bun. Coupled with Jack's insistence that not only had nothing ever happened between them, but that he had never even been tempted… yep, definitely expected a grandmother, with a bun. Nope. Not even close. There I was, waiting in the Tourist Office for Jack's special visitor, when in walks the most stunningly attractive woman I have seen in a long time. A very long time. Imagine my shock when she pulled out her UNIT ID card.

How much am I loving that I'm the only one that Jack bothered to tell? Oh, I'd have to say… A LOT! Right now Jack's taking Martha on a tour. Gwen's tagging along like a lost puppy. Guess somebody wasn't advised in advance about this whole thing. Somebody not me! There you go, Ms. I'm-second-in-command-I-am, Jack didn't say a word about this to you, did he? I know I shouldn't be smug, it is funny, though. Gwen has just cornered Martha in the hothouse. She's probably just trying to get Martha to tell her everything she knows about Jack's past. Hasn't she noticed that Jack's getting impatient, waiting for them up there on the catwalk? What is that he doing? Is he trying to catch my attention?

Okay. That was absolutely humiliating. Waiting for the ladies to catch-up, Jack noticed me down here writing. He gets my attention (yes, I admit, I seem incapable of ignoring Jack… for long) and he starts motioning, miming what he'd like to do with me… to me. I'm blushing and considering how to mime my indignant response, when Jack suddenly stops and waves… behind me. Sure enough, there's Owen watching the whole thing, smirking. I used to think, at times like these, that I wished the Rift would open and swallow me. Not anymore. I've learned my lesson. Now I wish the Rift would open and swallow Owen. I'm never going to hear the end of this. Sometimes my life is simply too humiliating for words.

Seems like I'm the only one getting any work done today. Well okay, me and Tosh. Nothing new there, then. Poor Tosh, she's just about pulling her hair out, fighting with that NHS database. Not having much luck at it either. She looks like she could really use a chocolate biscuit. So that leaves me to sort through all the files and everything the old fashioned way. There really is too much information there for one person, but everyone else has a new project to occupy their time: amuse the UNIT guest. Well that wasn't just a bit… snarky, was it? I don't know why. I like Martha. Really. I'm not jealous (no, really.) I can see the way Jack looks at her when he says flirty things. It's teasing, brotherly, like when he teases Tosh. In fact, I don't think it's to do with Martha at all. I just feel… unsettled. I'm on edge (okay, more so than usual) and I don't know why. It's probably nothing. Never mind. Back to work.

Owen just tried to kill me. Literally. I was on my way to tell Jack that I'd found someone who might be the latest victim in this case. Walking up the steps and next thing I know, Owen's shooting at me with that bloody alien weapon he's been mucking around with. I am going to, for the sake of a professional working relationship, assume that it was an accident. That the little git fired that thing off, right where I was walking, right as I was walking there, because he was showing off for Martha, Jack and Gwen. Oh hell, look at his audience. Of course Owen was distracted, he had every single person he cared to impress right there watching him. Well, he can explain to Tosh why her chocolate biscuits ended up on the floor.

We should have VIP UNIT visitors more often. When Jack, Martha and Gwen came back from visiting the latest victim (is she technically the latest victim, if she survived?) anyway, when Jack came back, he announced that it was late enough and we should all call it quits and just get an early start in the morning. Gwen was out the door like a shot. Tosh growled (actually growled) in frustration and left muttering obscene comments about the NHS. Owen, on the other hand seemed to linger. I think he had ideas of swooping in and asking Martha out to the pub. Jack. Jack got that look and asked if I was staying late to finish-up the paperwork. I must say I loved the way his grin twitched when I said no. What did he expect, really? I needed to get our guest settled-in. Jack had taken my arm, pulled me over and whispered, 'After you drop her off… you could come back.' Now really Jack. I couldn't just dump your VIP guest and run. I pulled away from him, raised an eyebrow and told him, "Now Sir, that would be just plain rude." I offered an arm, that I'm glad to say Martha didn't ignore, and escorted her through the door to the lift. As the door rolled back and the little window went by, I caught a glimpse of Jack as he stood with his hands on his hips in the middle of the Hub, clearly pouting.

I absolutely love Martha Jones. She is really, and truly, sweet. As we made our way through the Tourist Office, I picked-up the bag she had left when she first arrived. When I refused to let her carry it as we walked to my car, she gave my arm a squeeze and said she'd have to call her mum. Apparently she now had proof to win their on-going argument, proof that gentlemen did still exist. I smiled and decided to push the envelope; I opened the car door for her as well. As we drove, I realized there was something we had yet to discuss. Luckily she happened to mention the crowded streets. I took that opportunity to point out the timing of her visit. Between a scheduled international rugby match and a few major concerts, pretty much every _respectable_ hotel room had been booked. Given the short notice Jack had given, while I had finally secured her a room, I thought if she didn't mind, she might be more comfortable in my guest room. It was really a spur of the moment suggestion, but I like Martha. The thought of her alone in a rugby fan filled hotel... Well, she'd never get any sleep. Also, as apparently UNIT wouldn't allow her to expense a rental car, I could give her a lift in with me in the morning. I think this all came out in a rather incomprehensible rush. In the silence that followed I inwardly cringed. Did she think I was on the pull? I chanced a quick glance at her, expecting rage, or insult, or some look of 'you have got to be kidding.' Instead she smiled and asked if I'd be willing to meet her mom, that I was 'absolute proof.' I made a quick left and headed towards my flat instead.

* * *

Last night was the best no-Jack-night I've spent in a long time. Martha and I spent the entire evening just talking. In fact, we'd put a DVD in the machine with every intention of watching it, but no one ever remembered to hit the play button. Martha and I had to force ourselves to finally go to bed around midnight. This morning I mentioned Owen's clothes scheme. (Mostly in response to the question she wasn't asking, to explain why I appeared to still be wearing yesterday's clothes.) I expected her to smile, shake her head, tell me we were being ridiculous. Instead, she got all excited and ran back to her room. A few minutes later she returned, dressed almost identically to how she had been yesterday. 'I can't believe how lucky I am, I almost didn't bring this shirt because it's so close to the other.' The girl has a grin almost as wide as Gwen's.

'There was something we didn't talk about last night.' If I hadn't been stopped at a signal when Martha said that, her hesitant, and dare I say ominous, tone would have made me hit the brakes. I tried to sound light when I responded, "Really? I thought we covered things pretty well." She told me that back at UNIT they were pretty determined to steal me away from Torchwood. I frowned. They'd stopped calling a while back. I'd really thought they'd given up. "Why?" I glanced at Martha beside me. She just smiled. "No, really. Why do they want _me_?" The signal changed and we continued on. It was a moment or two before she spoke again, 'Do you really not know? Have you seen your UNIT file, Ianto?' I raised an eyebrow at that. I didn't think UNIT would bother keeping a file on someone like me. Martha said that as UNIT Medical Officer, she'd been on the review panel. She'd seen it. Apparently there's a General Smithers who was rather determined that I should be lending my talents to a larger organization than Torchwood Three. I don't understand. My talents? Does UNIT suffer from particularly bad coffee? Martha just laughed. She said that the recent 'paintball incident,' as it had apparently been dubbed, had caused an 'enthusiastic' renewal of interest. Brilliant. Martha asked me to promise not to mention what she was about to tell me to anyone at Torchwood, not even Jack. Against my better judgment, I said okay when she promised it wasn't anything dangerous or bad. What Martha said next nearly made me crash the car. After the events with Atmos and the Sontarans, Jack had nominated me for knighthood. Knighthood, really? Sir Ianto... She had to be kidding. She wasn't kidding. Really? Did he? He'd never said. Well, whether anything ever comes of that or not… it did catch UNIT's eye, again. Huh. Don't know what to write about that.

In any case, it led Martha to the topic I think she really wanted to discuss all along. Something else that was in my file. We pulled into the lot and parked just as Martha got to what she wanted to talk about, Martha's cousin Adiola… and Canary Wharf. I wish I could have been honest, said I'd known her. Said that I knew what happened in her department, that as a survivor, a first hand witness, I could say that the official reports were wrong. Tell her that it happened quickly. That people on those upper floors weren't converted, that it was quick, that they didn't suffer. I wish I could have been honest and told her all of those things. As it was, I lied and told her them anyway. I hate it. I hate lying. After all that time, after Lisa, lying… it almost physically hurts me. But the look, the look on Martha's face as she listened to my lies and believed them… I suppose I can deal with it, for her. She kissed my cheek and opened the door. I'm pretty sure she was out of the car before I started to cry.

Martha headed down to autopsy right away. I headed for Jack's office. When I knocked on the doorframe he didn't need to look up to know it was me, 'You spent the night with a woman you just met and this morning you don't even bring me coffee?' Jack glanced up and his grin disappeared, 'Ianto? What's happened?' He was from behind his desk and his arms were around me before I realized he'd asked me a question. He just held me a minute or two before softly asking, 'Martha's cousin?' I think I nodded. 'I'm sorry Ianto. I knew she had a cousin there, but I didn't think she knew about you being there. If I thought for a minute that she would bring it up…' It seemed all I could do was nod. Eventually we sat and eventually I told him that I'd lied to Martha about everything that happened, everything I'd seen, everything her cousin had probably endured. Jack just held me. He didn't tell me I'd done the right thing, that sometimes lying is the right thing to do. He didn't' tell me that I'd made Martha happy, given her some peace. Jack just held me and in his silence he let me know that I had helped.

Tosh must have noticed something was wrong this morning. She's brought me a cup of tea and some shortbread. I told her that Owen had been asking about the pool tournament again. She said it was never meant to be a tournament. I told her I knew that, but that she needed to smack Owen upside the head and tell him. She took the last shortbread and said maybe she would do just that. When I told her no time like the present, Tosh just smiled that sad little smile and said that Owen was busy with Martha, doing 'doctor stuff.' I gave her a sad little smile of my own in response.

Morning meeting was in Jack's office for a change. Owen and Martha explained the 'doctor stuff' they'd figured out. Seems a very organized group of psychotic killers this time. Gwen and I have been assigned to follow-up the criminal side. Looks like I'm meant to be learning from PC Cooper's experience this time around. Wonder if Jack thinks Owen's been a bad influence on me, or something. Or is he thinking Owen being partnered with Dr. Martha will be a good influence on him?

Martha was sitting eating the leftover lasagna I'd packed her for lunch when Owen came by. When he asked her where she'd gotten it, she just pointed at me, her mouth rather over-full and tried to say something not entirely unlike, 'From Ianto.' Owen looked at her plate, 'Doesn't look like the one you did for me, back when I was at your flat.' I told him no, this one was different, and hoped he'd let it go. Nope. Owen asked what brand it was, and before I could think of a way out of the situation, Martha swallowed and said, 'Isn't from a box. Ianto made it fresh, from scratch. And it is delicious!' I cringed. Owen turned to me, his mouth became a very thin line, 'Less than a day you've known her, and she gets homemade lasagna? I was staying with you how long? And mine came from the freezer section of Tesco?' I'd just worked out what I hoped would be a suitably placating response when Tosh entered the room with a, 'Ooooh! Is that Ianto's homemade lasagna? That was one of my favourites when I was staying with him.' Martha indicated a spare fork. After an uncharacteristically large bite, Tosh continued, 'God, how I missed that!' Owen was openly scowling at me now, and of course Gwen and Jack had to enter with contributions of, 'Do I smell Ianto's lasagna?' and 'Hope there's enough for everyone!' Martha indicated the container in the microwave, 'He's made enough to feed all of UNIT. Oh, and I almost forgot, there's garlic bread also. And it is sooooo good.' Jack dug out a serving the size of the Millennium Stadium, laughing, 'Well, at least we'll all have garlic breath, then. Oh! And as such…' Owen sidled up to me, rather threateningly, 'Never answered the question. How come I'm at your place… weeks… and nothing like this. Martha's first night in your guest room… hang on, she was in your guest room, wasn't she, Teaboy?' I glared a warning and Owen continued, 'First night and she gets… this, for dinner?' I met Owen's stare and returned it, "Well, could be because she's never called me Teaboy… or it could be that when I went into the kitchen and started making dinner, Martha came and actually _helped_." Owen's eye twitched, then the corner of his mouth followed suit, 'Nah, I figure it's 'cause all you Joneses… it's a conspiracy, that's what it is.' Yes Owen, but don't tell anyone, because we'll know. The Jones are everywhere. I then pointed out that the lasagna was almost all gone. Owen's only reply was to grab the fork I held out to him and dive across the table to snatch the remaining serving just as Jack was reaching for seconds.

After lunch we sat around the conference room and chatted. Martha leaned over to me and asked, 'So what is it, Ianto? Are you Torchwood's answer to the Hilton?' I raised and eyebrow, Jack just laughed. Martha went on, 'Owen, Tosh, has anyone not moved in with you at some point?' Gwen piped in, 'Me! But if he promised to cook like that, I'd leave Rhys for him in a heartbeat.' I felt awkward at the joke. I think Tosh sensed it because she asked, 'You're so brilliant at it, why don't you cook for us all the time, Ianto?' Jack answered, 'Because we'd all weigh 15 stone and wouldn't even be able to chase down a weevil.' Gwen laughed, 'We'd never leave the Hub.' Owen's contribution was a smirk and as he started to open his mouth, I interrupted what would surely have been his humiliating comment with, "And I'd never get the rest of my work done." Gwen suggested that Owen could do it for me. Owen's 'Oi!' was interrupted by Jack's laugh, 'Owen couldn't manage Ianto's job. Really.' Owen looked like he was choking, 'Oi! I'm still in the room you know!?!'


	47. Waiting

Gwen cornered me this morning with a look of such intensity I thought for an instant that she was going to confess something shocking. I have to admit, my mouth went suddenly dry as to the possibilities. Instead she leant towards me in a rather intimately familiar way and asked… why my pasta is so much better than Rhys'. Oh! The replies that raced through my head. In any case, Gwen continued, trying to assert that there was nothing _wrong_ with Rhys' pasta, it all just tasted… the same, every time. I tried to advise her that for some people, consistency was considered a good thing. I'm not entirely sure she didn't take that the wrong way. Of course I'm not entirely sure I didn't mean it the wrong way. Some people are just not cut out to be… innovative. Anyway, I went on to counsel her on the obvious cooking tenants: fresh tomatoes, fresh herbs (whenever possible) and the right setting on the pasta machine. It never fails to amaze me that people invariably run their lasagna noodles through too thick. Gwen looked at me like I'd suddenly sprouted horns or something. Her expression could only be described as gawping. 'Not a box?' Nope. 'Not a jar?' Never. Anything else I can do for you, Gwen? She just shook her head, but as I walked away I think I heard her say, 'Marry me?' Hmmm. Some people sure are easy to please.

Tosh just ran down to me here in the archives with such a look of joy, I thought for a moment that Owen had finally asked her out. Unfortunately no, Owen's still being a total git. In any case, Tosh had the irresistible urge to fill me in on a conversation she'd just had with Gwen. I asked her if this was about the lasagna again. Apparently yes. Tosh looked at me with a frown and asked, 'Are you _sure _you're not psychic?' I filled her in on my conversation earlier with Gwen. Told her that Rhys uses jarred sauce. The look on Tosh's face was priceless, all seriousness with just a hint of mock horror, 'Well that's it then, isn't it? The wedding has to be called off now, hasn't it?' I told her I wouldn't know, as it would appear that my invitation seemed to have unfortunately been lost in the mail. Tosh just frowned, 'Yours too huh? Well, don't feel bad, Ianto. I don't think she's invited any of us.' I told her I don't feel bad at all, not being invited. In fact, the only attraction I could see to going to the whole affair would be in getting to finally meet Rhys' infamous friends and see how they interact with his equally infamous parents. Tosh thought about that for a moment and then laughed in that wonderfully un-Toshlike way, 'Oh thank you! Now I'll be playing little mental scenarios in my head the rest of the day.' So it would seem I wasn't the only teammate… co-worker… left off the guest list. Whether she thought she showed it or not, I could see that Tosh really was upset that she hadn't been invited. Well, there was still time. Maybe Gwen hadn't sent all the invitations yet. Maybe when she called and desperately begged me to run to the post office to buy 100 stamps for her three weeks ago it was for a few over-due bills. Anyway, on the day, if Tosh still hasn't been invited, I think maybe I'll ask her out to a Saturday of shopping or the museums or some such.

Oh, almost forgot… the reason Tosh had sought me out in the Archives in the first place. Gwen had said something else to her, as well, asking Tosh if I was apparently so talented (her words, not mine) at cooking, she wondered what else I might be really good at that they knew nothing about. Tosh told me she had so wanted to say something along the lines of, 'Oh! Talents! You should ask Jack! He says Ianto can… Oh, I really shouldn't say, should I?' I'm rather glad Tosh chose to refrain from that course. But apparently Tosh said instead, 'Oh, you know Ianto. Sooo many hidden talents. So many things he dabbles in.' I questioned Tosh: dabbles? Tosh said that's exactly what Gwen said: 'Dabbles?' To which Tosh had replied, 'Yes, dabbles. Like I dabble in computers, or like Torchwood dabbles in the Rift. Or… like Sir Alan Sugar dabbles in business.' Apparently that left Gwen speechless. Really? Gwen speechless. Impressive, Tosh. I'll have to remember that one… dabbles.

As she left me alone again with the filing, I couldn't help but sigh. There was Tosh, clever, sweet, wonderful Tosh, trying to cheer me up when I could see in her eyes how sad she was. Not about Gwen, or what a lack of an invitation meant about perceived friendships, but about Martha. Yet another person had entered the Hub and immediately drawn Owen's interest. Another person so different from Tosh. It wouldn't help to tell Tosh about Tom Milligan. The fact that Martha had someone else would only serve to prove that Tosh had no one. One day I should just throw that obnoxious little git into the vaults and leave him there until he realizes what he's doing to Tosh. Knowing him and his indomitable ego, he'd probably rather die than acknowledge what he's missing out with Tosh.

Gwen and I went to Heath Park to investigate another victim. We knew going in that he was young, a student. It did nothing to prepare me, though. He was just a kid. So young. Left alone in the woods. In any case, his roommate's in class this morning, so it'll be another hour until we can follow-up there.

Dunno which is worse, investigating a body found in the woods, or telling his best mate about it. Still, could have been worse. I don't think I could have managed it on my own. I'm glad Gwen has experience with this sort of thing. No. That's decidedly not right. I wish no one had experience with this sort of thing. I'm glad… I'm glad Gwen can handle it, though, when it does happen. I never know what to say. All the 'I'm sorry for your loss' and 'I'm sure he'll be missed' It's never enough… I just… I hate it. I really, really hate it. There was something Mike said though, that Barry had diabetes. That Barry _used_ to be diabetic. How did he recover from diabetes? Rhiannon has diabetes. She's had to deal with it for years, now. It isn't something you can just cure. In any case, things are pointing to a research facility just outside the city. Jack and Owen have gone to ask some questions while the rest of us are trying to investigate further. Jack's asked me to start working on a way in, just in case this Dr. Copley doesn't like visitors, after all.

Turns out the Pharm wasn't overly inviting. Maybe Jack wasn't charming enough. Nope. That just couldn't be it. Owen probably said something rude and got them kicked-out. In any case, they're on their way back. Jack'll be wanting options. Ouch! Tosh is swearing again. She is not having the best of days, computer-wise. I wonder if she's trying too hard. Trying to compete with Martha for Owen's attention, maybe? When will she realize that it's just a game between them, neither are serious. Plus, no one can compete with our Tosh. She just needs a win. Something to get her back on track and in the right direction, then she'll have those computers hacked and begging her for mercy.

Tried to be discrete and send the Pharm info to Tosh like she'd been the one to figure it out. Tosh, being Tosh, couldn't oblige and had to yell out, 'Ianto! That's brilliant!' Thanks, Tosh. But you were supposed to claim credit for the idea, that's why I said, here's that research… the research you asked for, you know… before. Oh well, never mind. I tried.

Apparently I didn't try hard enough for Tosh to figure it out, but Jack, however, did. He came to me and advised me… privately, that he knew full well that I'd tried to give Tosh credit for my idea. Jack further advised me that he appreciated the thoughtfulness of the gesture but that, strictly speaking, boosting employee morale was his job. I pointed out in return, that if his idea of boosting employee morale included the hand that he was currently using to undo my belt, I didn't appreciate this type of management style being extended to the others on the team. Pointed out that, furthermore, Tosh would likely slap him across the face if he did. At least Jack had the decency to then advise me that his morale boosting system was specifically tailored to the recipient and that I was indeed the only one on whom he ever practiced this particular… technique. He went on to tell me that Tosh usually just needed verbal encouragement, Gwen got time off and Owen usually got ice cream. I, Jack informed me, was a special project. He was using me to research the best and most effective methods of employee 'fulfillment.' Of course he had to do this while licking my ear, so whatever he said after that, haven't a clue.

So Jack has said that as it was my idea, it's all mine. Brilliant. So now I'm to work out all the details of Martha's infiltration of the Pharm. Once I've got it all sorted, I'm to brief her on the mission details and impress upon her the importance of not taking risks. Jack thought that if he did it, she'd just laugh. She really must know him well. In any case, I've explained the details to Jack and he's approved the plan. Of course, along with his signature on the associated paperwork I received what I think may be a permanently marking love bite on the neck and some rather pornographic words of encouragement. I'd have to say for the record, my employee morale has been decidedly improved.

Okay, so there it is, the plan is all prepared and ready to go. Now if I could only say the same for myself. I have to admit, I'm tempted to leave it all on a tape recorder for her: Your mission, Ms. Jones, should you choose to accept it… It is all rather Mission Impossible. Well, here's hoping it isn't, impossible, that is. Wonder if Tosh could rig me up a tape that would self-destruct in 10 seconds. Anyway, I'm off now to 'brief' Martha on her assignment.

Oh and there it is. My own personal contribution to the reputation that is Jack Harkness. What was I thinking? Was I trying to convince her that it was true? By playing to her expectations of Jack. By playing it so absurdly… 'cool.' That she wouldn't have believed me if I'd simply said that in private Jack is someone else entirely. That when we're together he makes me feel like I'm the only person in all of time and space. That being with Jack makes me see that life is worth living. That making him happy is the only thing and that being with him is the only thing that can make me happy. If I'd just told her that, would that have made her think I was… that we weren't…Why on Earth did I tell Martha anything at all? Not exactly any of her business… but oh my God, why that? Avant Garde? What the hell does that even mean?

Martha's all set and has those new contacts in and working. Hah! And Tosh said she'd never get the quantum entanglement sorted. Told her that the particles wouldn't mix if she just worked in the reverse tangents and used Hale's theories. But did she want to listen to the teaboy? Bet she's glad she finally gave it a try. Well, too late to send Martha in to the Pharm tonight. I got her an interview set for 10am tomorrow. So today I got the archives updated, Jack's paperwork finished (no, really!) that stain in the autopsy bay completely scrubbed clean, and the plan to infiltrate the possibly evil alien medical facility finalized and set to go. I'm thinking… roast chicken and mashed potatoes.

* * *

So last night I had not only Martha for dinner, I had Jack as well. Not that I mind, but I really didn't have much of choice in the matter. I went to get my coat from where it was hung next to Jack's, and there he was, waiting. All it needed was that shark music from Jaws. Then he started with the big puppy dog eyes, I never stood a chance. I rolled my eyes and smiled at him and before I could open my mouth to say, "Okay, c'mon" he had both our coats in one arm and me in the other as he headed for the door. It was amazing. I spent most of the time while the chicken was cooking just listening to Jack and Martha reminisce in that way that they do. All in half sentences and finishing the stories for each other. I still have very little idea of the details of any of their stories, but just listening to them, hearing them, it was magic. I found myself leaning against the kitchen table, enraptured, a half drunken bottle of S.A. forgotten in my hand. By the time dinner was ready, both Jack and Martha seemed to have settled-down to a more relaxed level. While nothing was further from the truth, I think Jack suspected I might be feeling a little left out and switched to some of Torchwood Three's more… colourful stories. Soon I could see it was Martha's turn to just grin and listen as Jack and I took turns relating parts of our own stories. After I had to remind him that tales of combating alien slime hens were not appropriate given the evening's menu we'd just finished, Jack just grinned. I recognized that grin and gave him a warning glare in return. He never got the chance to start whatever story he'd decided to humiliate me in telling, because Martha changed the subject first.

'He's the one, isn't he?' Martha had been looking at me, but now turned to Jack. He just smiled that grin that says something really inappropriate is coming. Martha didn't let him start, 'He's the one in the picture that Tish told me about, isn't he? It was Ianto.' I looked from Martha to Jack as they looked at each other. Jack's grin faltered. He got that look where he's deciding how much to say and how much to withhold. I just wished I had some idea what they were talking about. Jack turned his head and looked at her sideways, giving her a look that I would have considered a warning. Martha either interpreted it differently, or didn't care. She started a new story, one Jack didn't interrupt. Martha continued to stare at Jack, but she was clearly telling the story to me. She closed her eyes for just a moment, and then she began, 'In _that year, _Jack was in the same place as my family. They tried to look after each other, to help each other. If nothing else, they could at least _talk _to each other. Keep each other sane. Jack spent a lot of time trying to keep the Master… occupied. Keep him distracted… and away from my family. Tish, my sister, told me that there was a picture Jack had, a photo. The Master figured out pretty quickly that that picture was important to Jack. He didn't waste any time using it against him. But the Master didn't just take the photo. The Master decided to make it all a game. He liked playing games with Jack. Tish told me. She told me that you died, Jack, so many times, protecting that photo. It was a picture of Ianto. Wasn't it?'

Jack never answered her. He just took a battered and folded piece of paper from his billfold and slid it across the table to Martha. Martha held his gaze for a moment before unfolding the paper and looking at it. A small, almost-but-not-quite sad, smile formed on her lips before she stood and kissed Jack on the forehead. She moved around the where I was sitting and kissed me as well, 'I'll see you both in the morning. Goodnight.' As she went to her bedroom, I felt the paper she had put in my hand. I looked at Jack, silently asking him what to do. He did that little non-committal shrug and just kept watching to see what I decided. I hesitated. What if it was a picture of the Doctor? Or Gwen? Or something else entirely. I looked at Jack again, but he only waited. Unfolding the paper while Jack still held my eyes, I wished I was more confident. I wished I _knew_ what I would see, wished I didn't even feel the need to look. Jack nodded. I looked down at the battered paper in my hands. There, behind some creases, a stain that could have been blood, and a tear mended with cellotape, was a picture. A picture I recognised. It was the picture Tosh had taken with her mobile phone so long ago; Jack and I asleep early one morning on the Hub sofa, together. I stared at the image as my mind raced. That photograph… its twin lived in my own phone's memory for so long. Until, after Jack had left, and I'd given up and deleted it.

I was still staring at the image when I realized that Jack was no longer across the table from me, but behind me, arms enfolding my now shaking shoulders. 'It's the only thing that kept me sane, some days.' He turned my face gently up towards his, 'You. You were the only thing that kept me going. Thoughts of you. When I came back, I was a bit of a coward. Kept saying that I came back for you, but then I'd always temper it by adding _all of you._ Truth?' I nodded. Jack's eyes seemed to bore into mine, 'Truth is I came back for you IantoJones. Just you. Only you. Because without my thoughts of you that year, I never would have made it home at all.' I think I managed a whispered, "Jack…" But he continued, "Ianto, I don't tell you. I should. But I don't. You. You make me keep going. For all the bad, all the wrong in the universe, I can keep going, because I have you. You told me once that I gave you meaning again. I'm glad. Because you give me hope.'

Jack took my hand and led me towards the bedroom with an almost shy smile. I had never wanted to be with him so much in my entire life. Still, at the back of my mind a thought slowly formed: Thin walls. I stopped and asked him, "But what about Martha?" He just grinned, 'Let her get her own. You're mine, IantoJones. All mine.' I actually dug-in my heels a bit, "Jack… the rooms share a wall!" Jack seemed to ponder this for all of a second or two before declaring, 'Well, we know what the hot gossip topic will be at the water cooler tomorrow, now, don't we?' He then proceeded to throw me over his shoulder in a rather undignified fireman's hold and carry me into the bedroom. I swear I could hear Martha laughing.

I'm still waiting to see how much of last night made it into the Hub this morning. So far no one seems to be acting any differently or saying anything. Could it be that Martha hasn't said anything to anyone? She and I seem to spend an inordinate amount of time chatting about lots of things. It's hard to believe that she isn't the same with the others as well. Maybe in UNIT they know how to keep confidences… well confidential. That would make for a change from 'round here. Anyway, speaking of Martha, she was rather upset that she had to wear some different clothes this morning. We didn't have time to do laundry last night with Jack over and all. The rest of us are still in our same looks. I really can't tell if Jack has even noticed. It wouldn't surprise me if he had and was playing a trick back, seeing how long we'll carry this gag. Well, for the record, I have my limits. This plan of Owen's isn't particularly stunning to bother dragging it out very long. I'll give it another day or two. After that, I'm wearing a decidedly different colour.

It's half nine and Martha has taken Tosh's car to the Pharm. Jack, Tosh and Owen are keeping an eye on her with those contacts. Those contacts. I am going to grow to hate them, I can tell. Jack actually made the suggestion that if he wore them, recorded the image and then played it back, I might actually be able to see what he means when he says… well that I'm gorgeous when we… How I look when… Well, suffice it to say I know full well he just wants me to wear them so he can watch himself next time we're together. Not going to happen. The man's ego is big enough as it is. Anyway. Okay. Hmmm. Where was I? Oh, yeah, contacts. While they're monitoring Martha, Jack wants me working on a back-up plan. Other ways to get into the Pharm if something goes awry. A plan B, as it were. Almost like Jack doesn't trust my plan A. Told him it'll be fine, as long as Martha does as I told her and doesn't go taking any unnecessary risks.

I should probably ask Jack if he wants me to run a deep level inter-terrestrial thermographic scan. Because I'm fairly certain Hell has just frozen over. Owen has finally agreed to that date with Tosh. Owen and Tosh, on a date. I haven't seen Tosh this happy and excited since… okay, I've never seen Tosh this happy and excited. She deserves this. Really.

So Martha's in. Now all that's left is a whole lot of waiting. They're currently running her through a set of physicals and the like, then it looks like she'll get a rest until tonight. Nothing much else going on. Jack's said I can go work on whatever needs doing for now, but he wants me back and available later. Cool. Free time! I've got a box of books, DVDs and video games for Flat Holm that I've been meaning to run over there. Probably won't be able to stay, but It'll be nice to just pop in and say "Hi." Plus I can hit the market on the way back, and the office supply store. I am really going to have to look into this. How can we be out of paperclips… again? That's it; I'm buying them by the case load this time.

I get the distinct impression that while I was out today, nobody had done a thing to organise any kind of lunch. Good thing I brought dinner back with me. The moment I walked through the cog door with the bags of Chinese, I was immediately set upon by a swarm of hungry co-workers. In the fray I was kissed repeatedly by Jack and Tosh, and I'm not sure, but I think even Owen. Nice to feel appreciated, even if it is only for my sweet and sour chicken.

So Martha couldn't quite control herself, could she? Had to go sneaking around. Brilliant. So much for plan A. In any case, Gwen and I had gone to check-up on an Elin Morgan. Seems she was the next target for the Pharm's own private hit-man. Why am I not really fazed by the whole corporate hit-man concept? Oh yes… Two years working with the people of Torchwood One. So, on the way to Ms. Morgan's Gwen had the brilliant idea to track the hit-man, Billy Davis' mobile signal. He was headed straight for her. I think a half a minute later would have been too late. Note to self: when time permits, remember to check my stun gun. It doesn't seem to be holding half the charge it once did. Anyway, Ms. Morgan is sequestered in the Penarth safe-house and Davis is down in the vaults, trying to wake-up. Once he does, Jack want to use interrogation technique 112-A. Ah, a classic. Not a very descriptive name, however. I'm thinking something new: weevil worrying, or Janet jarring, or… I dunno, something that alliterates. In any case, I think Janet's getting used to it. Last time we did this she really just waited for me to put the collar on her without much fuss. Wonder what she thinks we should call the technique.

Before heading to the vaults I advised Jack of my ideas for plan B. Now we had their tame hit-man (some say he only knows two things about ducks… no, wait, that's the Stig.) Anyway, I pointed out that Davis was probably our best way back into the Pharm and that visible bruising on the face, etc would not make that plan go any easier. I'm not sure that it wasn't a look of hurt that crossed Jack's face. Then he just nodded. I'll have to think about that conversation a bit more when there's time. I really hope I didn't say something too close to what Jack... What… I'll just have to think it through later.

Oh that was wrong on so many levels. It really was just like in _Alien_. Don't know if it was the mayfly, or the singularity thingy, but that was just too horrible. For just a moment, with the force of the… eruption, I worried that not all of that blood was Davis'. Owen says he's fine, though. Guess he is fine. As he pushed past me he mumbled that that was his last clean grey shirt. He was going to have to try to find something similar in his locker. Okay. Am I the only one here even slightly put-off by an alien bug bursting out of the hit-man's chest?

Apparently I am the only one put-off by the whole alien bug chest thingy. Tosh was positively beaming when she explained what could be called plan B-1. (Of course she didn't get to witness Torchwood Three's dramatic restaging of the first _Alien_ film… in 3-D and surround sound. Well, plus, she's still ecstatic about the whole Owen on a date thingy, as well.) We're pretty much all set to go, now. It's gonna be tight, the five of us jammed into the back of Davis' Land Rover. If I know Jack at all, he's gonna love it. As I'm writing this, Jack's over looking at the space in the back and leering at me. Watch out, here he comes…

Yep. I was right. Jack just told me that in the back of the vehicle, in the dark, crammed in the back with the rest of the team, he had every intention of testing how long I could keep a straight face with what he planned to be doing the entire trip. Figured it'd been a while so I brought out my favourite, "Careful, Sir. That's harassment." As he walked away, Jack called back, loud as you please, 'Only if I do it right. Of course you know, IantoJones, I always do it right!' I could hear Tosh's laughter from where she was finishing installing the radio controls. I know my night's not complete until Jack has utterly humiliated me in front of at least one person. Anyway, Tosh's done. Time for a visit to the Pharm.

No. Just no. It can't be. It shouldn't be. Not now. Not like this. Not like this. Not him. It's wrong. There has to be some mistake. It's wrong, all wrong. It shouldn't be. Shouldn't have happened. Not like this and not now. No. no. no. no. Please no. it's a mistake. All a mistake. A joke. That has to be it. Has to… please? Owen, tell me it's a joke. I'll laugh. I promise I will. Please? Please, just tell me Owen isn't dead.

It's true. He's there now. Lying in his own autopsy bay. He looks so young. So small. At least he looks… peaceful. But that's a look that seems so out of place on Owen's face. There's no smirk, no sneer. Nothing. Owen doesn't do blank. He's always so expressive. Was. Was so expressive. Don't see why Martha has to start an autopsy now. He's not even cold. Can't it wait? Can't we wait? Well, we are waiting. Because Jack said to. I have no idea what's going on, besides us here, waiting. Jack left. He has a plan. He knows something. Jack knows what to do. I… I just feel numb. Blank.

I told her. I said, "Don't take any unnecessary risks." She said she understood. I told her to stay away from the restricted areas. No. She had to go pushing in. Pushing the boundaries. Breaking the rules. If she'd only followed the rules. And what kind of Doctor is she, anyway? She didn't do one single damn thing to save Owen. Just shouting at him, over and over again, 'can you hear me Owen?' What does it matter if he can hear you? Do something. You're a doctor. Why didn't you do something?

As we sit here, waiting. Don't know what to say, what to do. There is nothing to say. I want to hold Tosh, let her know it'll all be okay. But it won't, will it? And we're all sitting here dressed in our same stupid damn outfits. Stupid bloody joke. Oh, damn. That was Owen's idea. Shit. I'm sorry. Not a stupid idea. Oh, God, why? Owen is dead and it's all my fault. Forget the 'lets wear the same clothes day after day to point out to Jack how strange his wardrobe choices are' idea. That was fine. That was okay. Let's consider the 'lets send someone into the psycho-pharmaceutical lab undercover as a human guinea pig' idea. That's so much smarter. What the fuck was I thinking? How could I be so bloody fucking stupid to think that that would turn out okay? That a stupid teaboy could outsmart the minds that developed something like Reset?

Okay. Never mind. Owen's back. This is Torchwood, after all.


	48. Gloves Do Come in Pairs

Death beats everyone in the end. Well almost everyone. But this is Torchwood, after all. Things are different here. Sometimes, even death looses. I should have known, really. Owen probably got to heaven and was so bloody argumentative and snarky, Saint Peter just turned him right around and sent him back. Now that is a mental image that makes me laugh.

Anyway, guess I should write a bit about what happened. There we were, Gwen, Tosh and me, waiting. Martha was down in the med bay getting ready to do Owen's post mortem while we stood around, just waiting. I didn't want to be there, none of us did. Especially not for that. Looking down into the bay, I couldn't help but notice how young Owen looked. He is… was… is older than me, but lying there, he looked like just a kid. Not fair. Too young. Martha was just about to begin and that's when it hit me, that as much as I didn't want to admit it, it was true, Owen was gone.

I hadn't even been thinking about where Jack was when he burst through the curtain and yelled, 'STOP!' He ordered that nobody was to touch Owen until he got back and then he was gone again, just like that, not another word. I have to admit I was confused. I wished he would have stopped and told me what he was doing, let me help, but that's Jack. As it was, he was gone like a whirlwind and we were left there, left waiting. I think I actually lost track of the time a bit. That is a rather disconcerting feeling by itself, let alone when combined with the sadness and grief, and the stillness amongst us that felt almost like a tangible presence. Surprisingly, it was Tosh who broke the silence first with such a quiet, "I'm really gonna miss him." I'm not sure Gwen even heard, despite the fact that she was sitting right next to her. I just didn't know what to say. Nothing seemed… enough. I sat down beside Tosh and pulled her into a hug. After glancing at Gwen, I reached further and pulled her in as well. We sat like that for a good five minutes. Silent, but together. Eventually I noticed that Gwen was in desperate need of a handkerchief, so I pulled away from the embrace to give her mine.

Gwen was the first to try one of those things people say when bad things happen. She actually told us that Owen could find peace now. Gwen missed the grimace that flashed across Tosh's face. I tried a different approach. Softly as I could, I said, "Yep. He won't have to deal with me anymore. Probably a lot happier where he is now." Tosh actually snickered, just a little. Gwen shot me a look that should probably have sent me to join Owen, if looks really could kill, but I continued anyway, "At least now Owen won't need to worry about getting stuck teamed with me in the field anymore." Tosh smiled a bit and gave me a small shove. Despite her sad expression, I knew she was joking back when she said in return, 'Are you kidding, Ianto? You really had no idea? Owen _asked_ to be teamed with you, I heard him, quite a few times.' I gave her another hug, "That's sweet Tosh, but really. Owen hated me, always had. I knew it. It's okay." Gwen leant forwards and stared straight at me, straight into me, 'Owen didn't hate you, Sweetheart. He worried about you. Your first real field mission, the Beacons, I lost track of how many times he said we should go after you and Tosh-' I pointed out the 'and Tosh' as being the reason, not me. Gwen was fairly insistent, however, when she said Owen always thought of me as a little brother and had even told her so once, and that he was only just a little drunk at the time. Apparently he'd said that I was the annoying kid brother he'd never wanted, but was glad he'd found. Could I have misread Owen so badly?

Gwen just reached across and squeezed my hand. I knew the small sad smile on her face was the same as my own. 'C'mon,' Gwen used her grip on my hand to lever herself up and then pulled me to follow. I, in turn, pulled Tosh along with us. Like a chain on an ice rink, Gwen pulled me through the Hub and I towed Tosh behind me. We ended up at my station. Gwen squeezed my hand again and let go as I moved to the coffee machine. She grinned her most supportive smile. 'Nothing can't be made at least a little bit better with some of Ianto's coffee,' she told Tosh. If only it worked that way.

I was on the couch while Tosh and Gwen were at their stations when Martha returned from changing back out of her scrubs. I have to admit that I hadn't even really noticed when she'd left. She'd only just settled down next to me when the cog door rolled back and Jack charged in with a box. We followed him into his office. No one said a word. When he turned around, he was holding a glove, a risen mitten. But it's different, this one. The fingertips are pointier, this one somehow manages to seem more… sinister or threatening or something. Well, as much as in inanimate object can seem menacing. Anyway, Jack announced, 'I'm using the glove. I'm bringing Owen back.'

Jack wouldn't be deterred. As much as Gwen argued, Jack persisted. I have to admit, after her experience with the last one, I can understand her reluctance. Can't be a nice sensation, how had Gwen said Suzie had put it? 'Being shot in the head, slowly.' Then dying, well, almost dying, maybe dying. No, I can see why Gwen was resisting. Still, Jack was adamant, pointing out this was a different glove and different circumstances. Jack's right. These are different circumstances. This isn't about investigating something, this is about Owen. I didn't know what good two minutes would be to him, but Jack was sure. I prayed that nothing would happen to Jack like had happened to Gwen. I missed Owen and I wanted him back, but I couldn't loose Jack in exchange for that. Not even for Owen. I thought about offering to be the one to try the glove, that way at least if something went wrong, Jack wouldn't be at risk. I was trying to formulate a reasonable argument in that regard when Jack said, 'If you've got anything to say to Owen, now's your chance.' Hmmm. Could have used a little more warning, to come up with something to say, something worthy of saying. Using up a part of Owen's precious little time. To say what? I'm sorry? I wish things had been different? I wish you weren't dead? What could I say, really? Things between Owen and I had always been… complicated.

Jack was trying. It really didn't seem to be working, and then there he was. Owen was back. But he was scared and upset and… Jack tried to calm him, using his commanding voice. Reassuring. Owen was understandably panicked when he realized it was the glove that had brought him back. When he asked how long he had left, I told him. It so wasn't what I wanted to say to him, what Owen should be hearing. What I wanted to say was to tell him how much I admire him, his strength, his bravery, his nerve, even his snarky attitude when things get to be too much. Instead, all I can say is how much time he had already used up.

So, there it was, time for everyone to say good-bye. Gwen started to stammer, but before she got going Owen interrupted her, telling her he only had two minutes to live and knowing he'd be dead before she even got really started. I looked at my stopwatch and debated telling him of the actual estimated time he had remaining. Sensitivity won out over accuracy this time. Tosh finally got her chance then, to whisper her feelings for Owen. From his expression, I'm still not sure he believed her. Everything was tense and my stopwatch was ticking. I thought maybe I'd just offer my hand, for Owen to shake, or hold, or ignore. Never really got the chance to even offer, Jack needed the code for the alien morgue.

Owen wasn't too happy at the thought Jack brought him back for that, only for that. But Owen's never really understood Jack. What Jack has to deal with everyday. There are practical matters that have to be attended, whether we want to acknowledge them or not. I think in that way, he and I are a bit alike. But Owen doesn't understand Jack. If it were simply the code, it wouldn't have been enough. Jack would just have had Tosh and I work to crack it or break through the lock itself. The code is an excuse. It seems important, but it's just an excuse. Jack can't die, but I think he fears it more than the rest of us anyway. Not for himself, but for us. He fears death, on our behalf.

Time, as it does, was ticking away. Jack kept holding Owen's hand like it would keep him there with us. In the end, I wondered if Jack's words of, 'Be brave!' were for Owen, or for himself. Tosh was crying openly. I concentrated and blinked my eyes just enough to keep from joining her.

I have to say, however, I am impressed with Owen's style. After going through all that, dying twice and knowing full-well when it was coming that second time around, he still had the presence of mind to wake-up out of it with a comment like that, 'I'm really gonna need that hand back.' Then, furthermore, in response to Jack's, 'Look! I'm not using the glove!' Owen continued with, 'But I'm still here.' After all the fear and sadness and loss and waiting, I really almost wanted to laugh. Owen was back, whatever that meant.

There was an awkward look between Owen and Tosh somewhere in there. Whatever, exactly, she whispered to him might need some discussion at some point down the line. As Jack tried to re-assure Owen, I was glad of something to do in helping to sort out some clothes for Owen. His jeans hadn't gone far, right where I'd left them when I had helped Martha prepare the body… Owen… for his autopsy. Did have to get him a new shirt as his old one was rather destroyed. I think that's when it really struck me that Owen really was back. That he was still Owen. He looked at the shirt I handed him, then glanced at Jack, before whispering that the shirt was too dark of a grey. He'd been wearing a lighter grey. I must have looked a little confused. Owen's whisper was almost a hiss, 'C'mon Ianto, the shirt. The plan. You've been wearing the same red for how long now, remember?' Only Owen would come back from the dead and insist on continuing the joke about Jack's wardrobe. Still, it had been his plan. I told him that Jack wouldn't notice and that I'd see what I could sort out for him. Owen just nodded quickly. Then, still finishing getting dressed, he headed up the steps. Seems he was in a hurry to get out of the autopsy bay. Can't say as I could blame him.

I think he was probably still a little bit in shock. Understandable, really. But still the doctor, Owen was trying to find his own heartbeat. It was a reassurance he wasn't going to be allowed. Martha swooped-in with a, 'You can't lead the investigation.' She followed that with a, 'Because you're the subject of it, and because you're dead!' Did they teach you that in medical school, Martha? That sensitivity? That arrogance? Who are you to judge him? To know what he's been through, to even try to guess? Never in my life have I ever been so tempted to slap a woman, ever. Not even Gwen.

Okay, now I'm equally tempted to slap both Martha and Gwen; Martha with her callous statements and Gwen with her flinching. Every time Owen moves anywhere near her, Gwen moves away. I haven't seen him visibly react, but he has to have noticed by now. I can understand she's afraid of anything glove-related. But can't she stop and think how all that cringing must appear to Owen? Like he doesn't have enough to deal with right now.

At least the Philemon filter didn't indicate any connection between them. Owen doesn't appear to be draining life from Jack. When that whole idea was brought up, I felt my blood run cold. The idea that it could... That Jack… So, this glove really is different to the other one in more than just outward appearance.

Martha isn't Torchwood. It's almost funny, watching the way she reacts to this whole thing. I couldn't help but smile when I noticed the small laugh Jack had when I brought-up the 'tend to come in pairs' joke from before. When I told Martha we had fished the other out of the Bay last year, she immediately demanded to know where it came from originally. As if we should automatically know. Or that if we didn't know, we weren't doing our jobs properly or something. She just doesn't understand how things work here and she doesn't seem like she cares to try. Maybe that's what it means to be a companion, travelling with a man who has the answers, all the answers. A Timelord who would know what the thing was, when it was from and why it was here now. Convenient and easy. And so _not_ Torchwood. Torchwood doesn't get handed the answers. We have to work to find what we can. Deal with the information we can work out and find a way to make it all okay in the end. Torchwood isn't easy.

I think I'm blaming too much of the way I'm feeling right now on Martha. That probably isn't fair. The way I feel… helpless, lost, guilty, sad, happy, confused… I just don't know what to make of things. That isn't her fault. It isn't anyone's fault. It just isn't fair. Still, work to do. Jack has assigned Tosh to analise the glove. When I was handing it to her, I was almost reluctant to give it up. The way it feels when I hold it, almost like it has some residual power left stored in it. Like a battery. Is it Jack's energy? It makes me feel a bit… tingly. Plus, it's like a key to the afterlife. A way back from Heaven. It's… intriguing. So anyway, Jack has told Owen that he's under quarantine. (I know I shouldn't, but I can't help but wonder if he would have done that if Martha hadn't been here. Okay, really need to stop that now.) Owen missed the eye contact, the glance that Jack used to tell me that the whole quarantine statement wasn't for Owen's benefit, it's for me. In that glance, Jack told me that I'm to help enforce that quarantine, and that if something does start to go wrong, to confirm that I'm with him. In return I give him the slightest of nods. I'll do anything at all in my power to help Owen, but whatever happens in the end, whatever needs to be done, I'm with Jack. Torchwood isn't easy


	49. Night of the Living Dead

Watching the others, the way they 'deal' with the situation, the way they deal with Owen… it makes me feel almost sorrier for him than I did when he was dead. Well, to be fair, he is apparently still dead… so shall we say when he was dead and not still moving around? Is he even dead? The heart isn't beating and he isn't breathing, but he is still thinking. He is still feeling. God, I hate to think what he must be feeling. Still, he is trying. So hard, he _is_ trying. But what of the rest of us? Gwen, who shared his bed not so long ago, keeps flinching away from him. Tosh, who had made such progress, looks so inhibited around him again. (Or is it shame? I think it might well have something to do with what she whispered to him, before.) Then there's Jack, Jack is in his commander-in-chief mode, all decisive and confident. But I can see the worry and the fear in his eyes… and maybe a little regret. And then Martha, she goes between telling him he's a victim and a subject for study to asking him to describe what it was like to be dead. Callous? Maybe, but she really didn't know him that well. So then, what's my excuse? Why am I trying to act like nothing has changed? I had already made him the coffee before I realised that he probably couldn't drink it. I'd already shot him the standard glare as I moved the paper he'd put in the plastics recycle bin. I guess I still don't know what to say to Owen, now that… well, now.

So now, as if this all weren't enough, apparently whatever's happening to Owen isn't done happening yet. Owen collapsed. He said he'd been pulled into the darkness again. Why can't it just leave him alone? Martha said that Owen is changing, that he's 40% 'something else.' Is that a posh medical term, 'something else'? What the fuck good is that? Why doesn't she do something to stop it? To reverse it? To bloody save Owen? I want to yell at her. Scream at her to do 'something else' to help him, but I don't. I didn't say anything at all to her in the team meeting because my own research in the archives has failed to find anything useful either. I'm glad Jack didn't ask me if I'd found anything. For a minute it looked as if he would, but I think he could see it in my eyes. I couldn't stand the thought of Owen turning to look at me expectantly, hopefully, only for me to have to say that I'd failed to find anything to help him. I'll look again, but this all seems more occult than alien. I just don't know.

Jack's pretty determined to find a reasonable explanation for all this. Science. Science is good, and it's our job, but it can't explain everything. We've had this debate before and I don't think Jack and I will ever agree completely. Still, I'm running the sensors for dimensional anomalies as he ordered. I just don't think it's going to help. This isn't science.

No anomalies. Unfortunately also no Owen. He's gone. Can't say as I blame him. The way everyone's reacting, I can see him wanting to get away from it all. Anyway, Jack's gone to look for him. As I held Jack's coat for him I couldn't help but think about what he said last week, that there are times when he doesn't realise that he needs to leave the Hub until he sees me holding his coat for him. This wasn't one of those times. This time he knew. He had to find Owen before anything bad… before anything worse can happen to him. Martha keeps implying that he's a threat. I don't know if he is or not, but I wish she'd stop bringing it up. Threat or not, he's still Owen.

Owen's out there, somewhere, alone. The way Martha kept on about that damn glove… why didn't Jack tell UNIT about it? Hmmmm, let me see, could it just possibly maybe be because Jack doesn't work for bloody UNIT? Okay Jones, breathe and let Jack handle it. Okay, but as it was, Jack was too busy handling it to leave any orders for the rest of us. I'm just worried that Martha's going to go around him and call in some troops. Should I block her mobile? Maybe I'll just keep an eye on her for now. I just hope it doesn't take Jack long to find Owen. After he'd gone, I texted him a list of Owen's favourite night-spots and pubs. Don't know if threat-to-all-mankind Owen is out sacrificing virgins or gathering weevil followers or something, but if I know our Owen at all, he'll at least stop for a pint or two first. Martha just came and asked me to make her a cappuccino. I told her we were all out of coffee. Am I being petty? Do I care?

Owen is safe. He's with Jack. In jail. (When they called to check authorization, was it wrong to request that they email copies of the mug-shots?) In any case, they're on their way back now.

Tosh has found some rather disturbing CCTV footage (No, not _that _footage, although right now I'd almost rather that it was.) It would appear that maybe Martha was right. Maybe there is something evil in Owen. (There's a joke there, but I can't quite bring myself to make it.)

Martha and Tosh were fighting. Tosh had told her about that translation device we have. Tosh was fine with the idea until Martha started insisting we use it because, 'We have to stop Owen.' Now they're in a rather intense shouting match. (If it comes to blows, my money's on Tosh.) Gwen had come up to me and said that it didn't matter until Jack got back anyway. If Martha is right about Owen's rate of conversion we might not have time to wait for Jack. I told Gwen that I know where the translator is stored and I know the codes. Gwen looked at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. I'd almost say she seemed jealous that I knew and she didn't, but that couldn't be it, not at a time like this. I pointed out that as second-in-command the decision was hers. She wanted to give Jack five minutes more and if he isn't back, to go ahead and proceed. I've got a bad feeling about this.

'_I shall walk the Earth and my hunger shall know no bounds_.' Not really the clue I was hoping for, but unlike James Bond super villains, we never seem to get adversaries who actually declare their evil plots with any real clarity. There is something to do with weevils, however. I don't know if it has anything to do with Owen's prior weevil connections, or the glove, or something else entirely, but apparently the weevils have taken to the new Owen. Janet is reacting fairly strangely and from what Jack says, there were dozens of weevils treating Owen with rather more respect than one usually receives from them (or than Owen usually receives from anyone, for that matter.)

Gwen and I had discussed splitting the research on this one. Well, I say discussed… probably shouldn't have mentioned the whole second-in-command thingy to her earlier. She fairly assigned me to research the possible alien side and has decided to take the religious aspect herself. I started to protest, to suggest that maybe it should be the other way 'round. Gwen interrupted my dissent and said that she always thought I had 'a strong spiritual side' and that's why she wanted me to take the alien invasion/ tech research instead. Gwen thought she could show more 'detachment' from religious beliefs.

Well, as I said, doesn't seem to be anything alien in this at all. My time researching was rather wasted, I'd have to say. In the meeting, as I listened to what Gwen had found, I had to wonder if 'detachment' is all it's cracked-up to be. I was familiar with a lot of what she was reporting. Gwen announced that Cardiff used to be the Parish of St. James with a sort of smug informativeness. As if we didn't _already_ know that… Well, as if _I_ didn't already know… keep forgetting I'm the only one who actually grew-up here. Still, Gwen did do a good job on the research, I just can't help but feel I could have done it faster… and maybe better, if I wasn't occupied chasing down a non-existent alien angle. I did find it amusing that Tosh kept trying to defend my position as Torchwood 3's research department by attacking Gwen's technique. She even told Jack outright that Gwen just wasn't good enough at research. I found it sweet and while I appreciate Tosh's loyalty I had to eventually tell her that I was fine with it, and didn't mind.

Owen asked what happens when we turn out to be the monsters. I wanted to tell him he wasn't a monster, just a grumpy bastard, but I couldn't quite seem to get my mouth to work properly. Jack. Jack seemed to know where Owen was going with that question, but he wasn't ready to give-up yet. Owen. Maybe Owen already had given up. I think, more than anything, Owen was worried about getting worse, getting to a point beyond bad. I was thinking, likening it to how he was back when we had opened the Rift… But I don't know what he's feeling, what it's like, what he's thinking.

Jack's always the one with the toughest decisions. This time, however, Owen took that from his shoulders. Switched roles, in a manner of speaking. Owen has made the choice and it's Jack who is down in the Med Bay prepping the procedure. Fuck. Prepping the procedure. Like it's some kind of standard flu jab. Like it's nothing at all. Owen's sacrificing himself, letting himself die to _maybe_ protect the world from Death. We're loosing him. Again.

What's the point of protecting the world if we can't protect our friends? Is this sacrifice, or suicide? I can't bring myself to blame him either way, but still… there's a part of me that wants to just scream NO. I want to lock him in the vaults, hold him back, stop him. Stop this. There has to be another way, if we can only go about finding it. But we aren't even looking. We all seem set on automatic. Owen says this is what has to be done, and I respect that… still… I hate it. A part of me, I think, hates him for giving up. Another part, however, understands maybe just a little.

Owen has asked me to be the one to clear his flat. I promised him I would. He asked me to make sure no one else ever saw the contents of the green box in his bedroom closet. I really couldn't help the raised eyebrow (it was up before I even realised) but I promised him that I'd take care of that as well. I made a stupid quip about burying the skeletons in his closet and immediately regretted it. But Owen laughed and said I could also bury the case of beer he'd just got in the fridge the other day. I teased that if it was that German shit he usually bought, it _should_ be buried. Apparently it's Brains SA Gold. Guess Owen's taste in beer has finally improved… There was a bit of an uncomfortable silence then, broken finally when Owen said that he could always count on me to take care of… things. I didn't reply. I couldn't. It was taking all I had not to cry. It was awkward for him as well, I could see that, but I still couldn't think of the right thing to say. In the end, Owen just clapped me on the shoulder and announced, 'The proud tradition of Torchwood sarcasm is all up to you now, Teaboy. Do it proud… do me proud.' With a small frowning smile Owen left to go get dressed for… for… well, Gwen's with Owen now. I hope she's being supportive and not whining too much. I hope she knows what to say to help him in this. Or, at the very least, that she listens.

* * *

Soooooo, after all that, it would seem that we're stuck with our grumpy bastard of a doctor, after all. Miserable misanthropic midge that is Owen Harper, MD. I should have known we wouldn't be able to get rid of him after all. Oh, God, thank you. Thank you so much. I thought, well, I don't know what I was thinking for most of last night. All of a bit of a blur, really. Jack'll be wanting my report, so I should try to get it all straight in my head first, before trying to compose anything official.

What happened? Good question. Owen came into the Hub from changing clothes. I remember thinking how he looked around at everything like it was the first time he'd ever actually seen any of it. The first time, the last time. He made his way across and up the Rift pool steps where I was standing. We still didn't have any final words (which looking back now appears to have been a fortunate turn, after all.) Still, for final words nothing seemed fitting. Nothing seemed enough. Owen's hand slid along the railing to where mine rested and our fingers touched for the slimmest of instants before he continued on towards the Med Bay. It wasn't much (and probably much more detail than Jack'll be wanting in that report) but not that long ago, one of us would have moved away before even the smallest touch. I wanted to grab him, hug him goodbye… but that isn't us.

Everyone was brave, or in shock. Hard to tell the difference really, except maybe for the respiration and heart rates and the like. Anyway, there was an awkward moment when Jack actually asked Owen if he was ready for the first injection. Really, Jack? I'd put a sticky note on my report that this was one of those inappropriate-and-not-funny comments we were discussing just last week, but I know that Jack would just retaliate with a series of inappropriate-and-only-slightly-funny comments on sticky notes left all over the Hub for me. If my time with Jack has taught me nothing else, it has taught me to pick my battles. In any case, the awkwardness created by Jack's inquiry was short lived due to the sudden liveliness that was exhibited by the glove #2. Yes, new and improved Risen Mitten, now with life-like mobility and kung-fu grip. Jack ordered a lockdown at that point, but fortunately everyone was a little too occupied with the deadly alien accessory to comply. Really didn't like the idea of being sealed in with that… thing skittering around.

I was the only one with the presence of mind to bother actually grabbing a weapon, yet Jack gives me _that look_. What? Hockey stick's better than nothing, isn't it? Anyway, the glove really seemed to have it in for Martha. Looking back, I have to wonder if it somehow realised (thought… felt… perceived?) that Martha was the one spearheading the 'stop Owen' campaign. Why else would it go after her so determinedly? The glove seemed resolute to kill her single-handedly. (Ianto David Jones, after all this, you did _not _just make that joke!) Okay, sorry. Lack of sleep. Anyway… The idea that the glove seemed to be some kind of life battery may actually be correct. It drew years from Martha and left her looking, well, old. Owen managed to destroy the glove, but Martha didn't just snap back like Gwen had before.

We didn't actually get a chance to analyse the situation, come up with a plan, or anything. We did, however, get the answer to the earlier question, 'What happens when Owen reaches 100%?' It would seem the answer is, 'Oh, the usual. He'll spout black smoke (that'll kill Jack) and then he'll collapse.' Should have guessed. So, while Jack was busy being dead, Gwen took command and declared that we needed to get Martha to hospital. Tosh suggested that Owen could probably do more for her than St. Helens A&E. But, as Owen was having difficulties just standing up at that particular point in time, it was decided that A&E would have to do.

Gwen was in a rush to get Martha to the SUV, but I insisted on bringing Jack along as well. As much as Gwen tried, I refused to argue the point with her and just hauled his arse along to the garage with us. (Either I need to take to lifting weights or Jack could really do with loosing a stone or two.) In any case, once he came back, I reckoned we were going to need him. While I was driving, I think I spent more time watching Jack than I did the road. (As it was, I narrowly missed a weevil stood in the middle of the road. Stupid sod.) Anyway, it must have been a bad death for Jack, he was gone the entire trip and I was starting to worry. When we arrived, and he still wasn't back, I relented and left him in the parking lot while we got Martha inside.

I'm thankful that we didn't leave Jack at the Hub. Tight fit as it was in the SUV, I was so… relieved to have him there, in command again. Even if the situation was 'end of the world' dire, I have to admit to the thrill I felt when Jack turned to me, 'Ianto, we need answers.' Adrenaline-fueled or not, the look in Jack's eyes held a level of confidence in me that made my heart race all the more… and made my trousers feel just a bit tight (Okay, cringing now. I'm putting that comment own to the lack of sleep as well.) Moving on… suffice it to say I was determined to please Jack. I was determined not to fail.

Hacking into the hospital mainframe only took a minute or two. That wasn't the problem. Nope, the problem was a big city hospital… with dial-up internet. Really? New definitions for the word 'slow' have been achieved. Then, of course every page is full of high resolution pictures and absurd little animations, and anything else that takes until the end of time to load. So the rest of the team was out running about fighting off Death himself, and I kept getting redirected to the Weight Watchers website, slowly. Brilliant. So much for Jack's confidence in me.

Well, it did help a bit, that when Jack called and asked me to break into the hospital's communication system, I'd already done it (while waiting for a particularly graphics-laden page to load in another window.) The news wasn't good. We seemed to be loosing, and quickly. Once I found the reference sources we needed it didn't get any easier. Page after page of information, but nothing new, nothing helpful. Plus every noise in the corridor outside made me tense. Rather hard to concentrate, what with Death right outside your door, literally.

I think I wasn't the only one a bit distracted. I could hear Jack and Gwen on the comms and Jack actually seemed… flustered. No, not flustered. Flighty? Forgetful? Well, probably something starting with an _f,_ and definitely something out of character. In any case, he actually needed it explaining, again, the whole thirteen deaths thingy. As I said, I think that the whole, death by Death earlier, had hit Jack harder than anyone might have suspected.

So, anyway, later Tosh told me, 'See, Ianto… that's why the rest of us should leave the historical research to the professional archivists. You saved the day!' But it wasn't me. It was Owen. Yes, I found the original Latin inscription that said Faith. Yes, I sussed out that it was Faith and not faith, but Owen took it from there. And despite what he says, Owen had faith, not just 'nothing to loose.' Facing Death, all on his own, Owen saved us all. When Tosh was telling me about it, she said that the only reason Owen kissed her was as a distraction to grab her scanner. Sure it was a distraction, but I think it was also his way of reminding himself that he did have something worth fighting for. Torchwood doesn't seem to draw people who believe. Or maybe it draws those who have lost their belief. I didn't know Owen before Torchwood, but back in Nepal we talked enough that I think I can see how that might have happened, what he's been through. I think Owen would like to believe in God, in hope and love… but right now, maybe he just needed something that he could see and touch… a cause… in any case maybe in the end facing Death (instead of just death) was exactly what Owen needed. A physical presence to fight. Or is it something for him to fight against, instead of something to fight for?

Owen Harper fought Death and won. In fact, by my reckoning that stands at Doctor Harper: 2, Death: 0. This, this is Owen. Alive or undead (or some other term yet to be coined) Owen is a fighter. He'll never go gentle into that good night. No, the Owen Harper I know (or think I know, at least a little) will always rage, rage against the dying of the light. I'm still not convinced that he expected to survive the encounter, or even that he hoped that he would, but I'm really glad that he did. The thoughts that raced through my mind at the silence over the comms… For a moment I thought that I was the only one left. The idea that they were all gone, that I was alone… again, I have to admit, that tested my own faith… just a bit.

I'm glad Martha's back… and in more ways than one. Whether it was being pulled closer to death herself, with the whole pre-mature aging thingy, or just having some time to herself to think... Or maybe it was getting a better look at just who Owen really is… in any case, I think Martha's got a new perspective, and she isn't looking down, quite so much. This is the Martha I like. She's back.

Jack looks so drained. He's worrying again, I can tell. It was late then, well, early. I sent the others home, which raised quite a few eyebrows, but no arguments. That's good, because Jack needed some quiet time alone. Well, alone with me, that is. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say he needs to talk.

Yep, I was right. Jack needed to talk. Coffee, wonder that it is, wasn't going to be enough, not this time. So when I entered his office I had that silver tray Jack likes so much (I swear, that man and his fetishes.) On my tray I had the usual coffee, but also those little mini-marshmallows that Jack adores, as well as a bowl of melted chocolate. It took a minute for Jack to look up, but I waited by the door until he did. His smile alone would have been worth a lifetime of waiting. As I walked towards him Jack closed his eyes and inhaled, 'Hmmm, my _absolute _favourite.' I placed the tray on his desk and smiled, "Yep. Coffee and chocolate." Jack opened his eyes and gazed straight into mine, 'Nope. Second and third favourite, respectively. A distant second and third, at that.' I moved to sit, leaning back against Jack's desk, before asking, "So your favourite's the marshmallow then? I'll make sure to keep some in for you." Jack glanced down at the tray, then back at me, 'Oh, I like the marshmallows, alright. But they're definitely not my _favourite_ thing.' Jack stood up and took a small step towards me, placing his feet on either side of my own and his hands on my hips. I raised an eyebrow and Jack continued, 'You are, IantoJones.' Yep, I knew that Jack needed to talk, but I also knew that it could wait until this morning.


	50. Breathe While You're Able

I was working on my incident report for St. Helen's Hospital and… the events that had led up to it… just now when Jack sidled up behind me. He did that husky-sultry-sexy voice and asked if I was 'writing the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.' I think he's been watching too much American courtroom drama on the telly. I decided to go with the classic, "You can't handle the truth." But, rather than risk a shaky Nicholson impersonation, I did it in my own husky-sultry-sexy voice. I could feel Jack actually shudder up against me. At first I thought his only reply was going to be the, 'Wow!' with which he immediately responded, but eventually he continued, seriously asking if there was something I was planning on leaving out of my report. I really had to stop to think how I wanted to answer that. On the one hand, no, I would never knowingly leave pertinent information out of an official report. However, yes, there were things, personal opinions and analysis, that would never make it in. I must've thought about my response for just that little bit too long. Jack slid around and sat on the edge of the desk and looked at me, 'What?' The tone wasn't accusatory or suspicious, more… concerned. 'What are you leaving out?' How could I tell him? How could I look Jack in the eye and tell him that his office boy questioned some of his decisions, his procedures? In the end I didn't tell him, I simply handed him my mission notes. As Jack read through them, I could tell which one he was on by virtue of the expression on his face. He seemed to readily agree to several of my points and when he got to my notes on his brilliant decision to enter a Weevil-infested church with neither back-up nor the decency to go so far as to even tell one of us where he was going… I could feel the frown tugging my lips and could see it start to show as a reflection in Jack's own expression. We're going to need to talk about this at some point.

Turned in the final draft of my incident report. Jack's got it now. I'm wondering how he'll react to what I've written given that he's already read my notes.

Jack and I just had what I think was just the first of a series of discussions. When I first took him his coffee and he didn't look up right away, I thought I was done for, really. I was just about to leave when he finally spoke. What he said nearly floored me, 'You're right.' I waited, but that was all. I went and sat in my usual spot on the edge of his desk and finally Jack looked up at me. He just sighed. I could tell what he was thinking. Or what I thought he was thinking… I had to move fast or there would be a major Jack melt-down (and it wouldn't merely be him spending an inordinate amount of time brooding on rooftops, either.) As I'd luckily closed the door when I'd entered, and I was fairly certain the others were busy, I took a chance. I pushed Jack back in his chair and straddled his legs. His quick look of surprise moved from smirk to leer in a flash (Step one: distraction.) "I'm always right," I whispered in his ear. (Step two: flirtation.) Running my fingers through the hairs at the nape of his neck, I smiled, just a little. "Jack… I think you need a break." (Step three: management.) And Jack… if you're reading this, yes you do need to be managed and we both know it. (And stop reading my diary.)

Sure Jack resisted… a little. But in the end I convinced him that barring any major Rift activity or world peril, that letting the rest of the team direct itself for a while would be good for all parties involved. He agreed that Gwen could spearhead any investigations that came up between now and her wedding. Tosh was working independently, as usual, on several projects. Martha was busy with trying to figure out Owen (so many jokes there, but I'll let them all pass... for now.) And Owen… well, Owen was still in limbo. I tried to make a case for giving him a project; something to occupy his time besides Martha's pending tests. But Jack was holding firm on that point. I'm worried that he'll pull Owen from active duty completely. I started to make another try, but the look deep in Jack's eyes told me that if I pushed too hard Owen would end up locked in the cells next to Janet. Time enough later. For now, Jack agreed to take a step back. To breathe. Sometimes Jack seems to forget that immortal or not, he still needs to live.

Gwen cornered me in the Archives, jumped out at me from behind the shelving that holds the remains of that sub temporal biostatic transmogrifier that Jack disassembled and still hasn't put back to rights. I thought I was going to have a heart attack or something. I was glaring at her before I noticed that her eyes were red, she'd been crying. Apparently she'd just gotten off the phone with her wedding venue. It would seem that there's been a bit of a problem, well, more than a bit. The place had the ill manners to go and burn itself down. Maybe it's just me, but I don't think 'charcoal' makes for a good wedding theme. Well, after crying at me for a good ten minutes, Gwen begged for my help. Literally. How could I refuse? Especially after she went on about how she and Rhys just want to be a happy couple and how they _need _everything to be perfect.

So that's how I've spent the majority of my morning, tracking down a new venue for her. I found it. I'm actually rather proud of myself. Yes, it's a bit out of the way, but actually quite lovely. Quite a find, especially given the lateness of the booking. On the day, it's going to be perfect!

Yep, that's how I spent my morning. And how did I spend my afternoon? Why that would be in calling _all_ the fine people on Gwen and Rhys' guest list to inform them of the change. No, it's fine Gwen, really. Not like I have any work to do. Just a side note here: it's confirmed… no one from Torchwood made it on to Gwen's wedding guest list, not even Jack (well, at least _I_ wasn't the _only_ one not invited.)

Gwen cried for another good fifteen minutes about how they want everything to be perfect. What couple doesn't?

I've been thinking, how long has it been since I've seen Jgem'a? I had a look round her usual areas in the Archives, but there wasn't any sign of her. I'll have a look through the CCTV. Maybe Tosh could run a heat trace through the internal scanners for me. While I was down in sub-vault 33C I came across an unlabeled box. Ignoring my 'Don't Press the Button' training from Torchwood One, I went ahead and threw caution to the wind and opened the box. I'm trying to visualize the scenario… why on earth would one of my predecessors feel the need to archive a box of old Tintin books?

I gave Martha a jar of anti-wrinkle, anti-aging cream. She stared at it for a full minute before realising it was just a joke. That really says something about working here, that it was only yesterday that she was prematurely aged with a mobile mortality-magnet metal mitten, and this morning she's already put it out of her mind. I was just starting to worry she either wouldn't get the joke, or that she'd take it the wrong way when she burst out in a fit of laughter I thought might never stop. Then she hit me. Ouch.

Okay, I really am going to make Martha cry. I'm not trying to, really. Back before, we were at a point already where we could tease each other. Maybe not anymore… When I was going 'round with the tray of coffees she looked up at me, expectantly. I told her sorry, but since she'd bruised my arm earlier the tray was just too heavy for me to carry with five mugs. (Martha shouldn't pout. Not an effective look for her at all.) Tosh got the joke, she was sitting there, having a hard time hiding her laughter. I finally broke down and pointed out that Martha's mug was already on the desk in front of her. She must not have noticed me put it there a moment before. She looked at me like I was Houdini. I just smiled and told her to drink it before it got cold and left to deliver Jack's coffee. As I walked away I could hear her tell Tosh that they should put a bell on me. Tosh told her not to say that in front of Jack. Trust me, Jack doesn't need anyone giving him ideas, he has enough of his own.

Gwen has gotten it into her head that I've been spending my evenings going to some book club. A book club? Really? With all I have to deal with around here, when would I possibly have time to actually sit down and read a book? Let alone meet with anyone to discuss it? If he saw me sitting down and reading a book, what are the chances Jack wouldn't have other ideas on how I should be spending my 'free' time? Still, no matter how many times I tell her she's mistaken, she won't seem to let it go. Eventually I had to look at her with all seriousness, and a few furtive glances behind me, before saying that I just couldn't talk about it. She grabbed my arm, all concerned, and asked me why, was I in trouble, was something wrong? It was really hard to maintain the straight face as I confided to her… "that's the first rule of book club: You don't talk about book club." I'm guessing Owen had been eavesdropping, as he chose that particular moment to literally fall out of his chair.

How can we be out of paperclips again? I bought a case last time and that wasn't so very long ago. It has to be Owen.

Now that everyone's gone for the evening the Hub is blissfully quiet. It's that time of day I love where the light must be reflecting off the Bay. Even the little bit of natural light that manages to find its way down here has that golden cast to it. The Rift Predictor is promising a quiet night and Jack has actually threatened to sell it for scrap if it was lying to us. Come o think of it, I'm not quite sure where Jack is at the moment. Not far. I can feel him. Nearby. Anyway, here in the quiet, I was thinking… what would I miss most… had it been me instead of Owen. Chocolate? Coffee? The feel of a breeze in my hair? Blushing? Who am I kidding? Of course it would be Jack. It would be a 'who' I missed, not a what. Jack. Touching him, feeling him, the heat when our fingers brush, the tingle when he kisses me just below my collar, that breath he always takes just before our lips meet… I could go on without anything else, but not without him. To continue to see him every day, but to exist without… what we have now, I simply don't think I could. I'm glad I don't have to.


End file.
